Roses
by Emchan
Summary: Back after a year! EdwardEiri's back home, but was it all for nothing? What will his father say when he sees StuartShuichi? "My son is insane!" Chapter 16 up
1. Prologue

Well, ok so this idea is a bit far-fetched but I love coming up with strange story plots ^_^; This is also my first Gravitation fanfic, so please forgive me if I'm not completely on target and if the characters are off or OOC or anything. I guess the fic is also kind of AU-ish. Kinda. And it's more based on the anime Gravi instead of the manga (meaning pretty much no Maiko and no K's family). I would follow manga version (it's really a lot better) but I haven't even read the whole first volume.

Rating: PG to PG – 13

Guide (I have the professions also so it's not too confusing):

Yuki Eiri - Edward Young - Accomplished Novelist

Shindo Shuichi - Stuart Shubrook - Aspiring Poet and Song Composer

Seguchi Tohma - Thomas Savage - Wealthy Publishing Company Owner

Sakano - Kenneth Saunders - Stuart's Agent

K - Claude K. Winchester - American Ex-Mafia gunman, works for Thomas as an Agent

Sakuma Ryuichi - Reece Swift - Accomplished Poet and Song Composer

Nakano Hiroshi - Hugh Norris - Aspiring Violinist

Uesugi Tatsuha - Timothy Ulysses - Schoolboy

Suguru Fujisaki - Frederick Sullivan - Schoolboy and Aspiring Conductor/Composer

Ukai Noriko - Natalie Udell - Accomplished Pianist

Usami Ayaka - Anna Udolf – Schoolgirl

Seguchi Mika – Marianne Savage – Thomas's wife

Disclaimer: I do not own Gravitation. Maki Murakami does. I own the shopkeeper and the idea for the story, but that's about it.

Yuki comes across an old journal that supposedly can make what you write in it come true. It's not true, of course, but how come when he starts writing in it the whole gang is suddenly living in the 1910s in England with no knowledge of their lives in Japan? AU-ish, YukiShu

**__**

Roses

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"Yes, yes."

Yuki had been in his office for the past few hours. "Yes, I understand, yes." Scratch that, Yuki had been in his office talking on his phone for the past two hours. "No... not until next week." Scratch that again, Yuki had been in his office talking on his phone to his publisher for the past two hours and three minutes. "Yes, 400 pages. No, I decided against that. Yes."

For the past two hours, three minutes, and forty seconds, Shuichi had been sitting outside Yuki's office, his butt and legs numb, waiting for the writer to get off the phone. "Yes, alright. I'll bring it in tomorrow. Yes, alright, I will. You too, good - ... no," that was the fifth time he had started to end the conversation, "No, it'll be fine. What? Hold on, let me check," and the fifth time Shuichi had started to stand on his sleepy legs, "Yes, right here." And the fifth time he sank back down on his sore bottom, "Alright. You do? Alright. Yes, I've reread it. Ok. Goodbye."

And that was the first time Shuichi heard the sweetest sound in the world - the sound of a phone clicking off. The pink haired boy jumped up and turned, pounding his fists on the door, "Yuki! Yuuuki, come out you've been in there forever, Yuki! What took you so long, Yuuuukiii!" He stopped only when Yuki finally opened his door and grabbed hold of the boy's wrists, squeezed them, then pushed past him, "I'm going to bed."

Shuichi was about to argue, or follow, or join him, but the tired man glanced over his shoulder at him and grumbled, "I'm tired." And with that, he disappeared into his bedroom, the door shutting behind him. Normally Shuichi would ignore that, but whenever Yuki got off the phone with his publisher it meant one thing to Shuichi. He was sleeping on the couch.

The boy sighed and rubbed his bottom, the blood slowly rushing back there and to his legs. Shuichi grumbled quietly and walked to the living room, already having showered right before the publisher called, and flopped onto the couch. Still grumbling, he pulled the sheets up over him and curled up against the back of the couch. He really hated Yuki's publisher. However, Yuki calling his publisher and telling him that his next book was finished could be a good thing, since it usually meant that Yuki would be free for the next week or so. And a free Yuki meant a no-stress Yuki. And a no-stress Yuki meant a no-couch Shuichi. And that was always a good thing.

So, Shuichi closed his eyes and wiggled his way deeper into the covers and bid silent good-byes to his couch, for the next week at least.

~-~

Yuki leaned against the humming fridge with a can of beer in his hand. He hadn't slept well the previous night - two, maybe three hours a best - and now he was standing in his kitchen at 8am drinking alcohol. Shuichi constantly insisted that he drink coffee instead, that it was much better for him to have instead of alcohol. Yuki rose the aluminum to his lips and took another sip, hiccuping the bubbles back down. The boy was right, really. For all his annoying tendencies and idiocy, he was right. Coffee, while still not very good for you, was much healthier than beer. Yuki finished the rest of the bitter drink and tossed the can into his recycling bin. What did health matter?

"Yuki!" There was the boy's cue now. He bounded into the kitchen and latched on to the annoyed blonde's arm, "Yuki you were drinking again! Your breath smells really bad, you shouldn't drink that in the morning." Yuki grunted and shoved the boy off him. Shuichi propped himself up against a kitchen counter and pouted, watching Yuki wander over to the kitchen table and sit down in front of a newspaper.

"How long have you been up?"

Yuki glanced over the top of the newspaper to glare at Shuichi, "Several hours."

"Yuki couldn't sleep?" Shuichi grabbed the chair across from him, placed it next to Yuki, and sat down, "You need a break!"

"I have a break. It doesn't mean that I'll get any rest, though," Yuki turned the page, "since your incessant whining will probably keep this headache in place all week."

"Yuki's so mean!" Shuichi grabbed the discarded sports section of the newspaper and smacked Yuki's arm with it, then stood and ran out of the room. The novelist grinned and leaned back in his chair, thankful for once that the boy was so easy to annoy.

"Where are you going?"

It was one hour later and Yuki hadn't had any quiet after all. Just a couple minutes after he'd insulted Shuichi the first time, the pink haired boy ran back into the kitchen and ate cereal. Very, very crunchy cereal. Very, very slurpy cereal. And right next to Yuki. After that it was just a matter of what else he could do - blast loud music, complain about K or Sakano or Suguru or Hiro or whomever he could think of. Finally, Yuki decided that if Shuichi wasn't going to go complain to them that he would go out. And not tell Shuichi where he was going.

"Can I come?"

"No."

"Please, please, please?" Shuichi's sad eyes and doggie ears and tail pleaded with Yuki.

"No."

"Yuki's mean! Why can't I come?" Shuichi grabbed hold of his sleeve.

"Because," Yuki walked over to his apartment's entrance and slipped off his house shoes, tugging Shuichi-inu along. "don't you have the studio to be at or..." Yuki jerked Shuichi's hand off and grabbed his keys, "Something?" The boy whined louder and grabbed hold of Yuki's sleeve again, "I can skip! Come on, Yuki! You don't go out during the day much, and I haven't spent much time with you lately. I could call in sick or something!"

"Do you think K would really care if you called in sick?" The blonde raised a thin eyebrow at him, then smirked as the boy's face fell, "I didn't think so. Besides, I don't think I can deal with your voice all day. I'll be here when you get back." Yuki pulled the crestfallen boy's hand off, slipped into his outside shoes, then left the apartment.

Yuki drove into one of the older parts of the city, not certain of where his destination was or what he'd do when he got there. He was just glad to have peace and quiet in his car and to not see flashes of pink in his vision. Or complaining. Or whining. Yuki eventually parked his car and climbed out, not really caring if he was ticketed, and walked down the sidewalk.

He wasn't sure how long it was since he'd been out of the house. His last book was very difficult for him, often times he'd only leave his room to use the bathroom, sleep, or get a beer. Most of the time he didn't even sleep. He didn't eat all that much, either, since Shuichi did the shopping and all he got was Pocky, Yan Yan, and any other kind of candy he could find. Yuki'd never had much of a sweet tooth.

The author pushed his sunglasses down from the top of his head to rest on his nose – although he doubted many people around this area would know him; there was still a chance. Yuki glanced to his right side, looking into the windows of some of the shops. Not much around here, really, but he was close to the shrines. Most people that came to this area of the city only came for the shrines so shops were fairly scarce. Plus, Yuki had been in every one of these shops already so there wasn't anything new. The storefronts looked like they hadn't changed in decades.

Yuki paused, his feet firmly planted in front of an old, old antique store that looked like it had been in business there for a century. Which it probably would have been, except for the fact that this building was condemned several years ago. Yuki shrugged and walked up to the door, pushing it in. Rusted bells rang above him, letting the shop owner know someone had entered. Yuki glanced down at the floor then slipped his outside shoes off and placed them in a cubby next to the door. He walked further in and glanced about the store. Well, it was an antique store. And there were many old, old antiques in it. Some Chinese, some Japanese, but mostly western, and there were several items from what looked like the Victorian era.

The blonde man stopped in front of an old rocking horse, covered with molding leather and rotting horsehair. He ran a finger along the antique, coughing as a piece of the leather came off on his fingers. "Ah!"

Yuki glanced up, startled at the sound of someone else's voice, "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't think that – "

"Don't touch the items in the store unless you want to buy them!" the voice, belonging to an old hunched over man, came closer to Yuki, "The items in here are very old and expensive."

Yuki bowed in apology to him and quickly wiped his hands on his pants, "I'm very sorry, I didn't know it was so deteriorated."

"You have eyes don't you?" The old man pushed his wire rim glasses up, "Eh, well, no harm really. Just decreased it in value by about five hundred thousand yen."

"N-not really!" Yuki stepped back and looked at the old rocking horse. Was it really that valuable?

"Nah, I'm just playing with you, boy. Old men have to have fun too. It's really a worthless piece of junk but it adds to the atmosphere so I keep it around." The man patted the rocking horse, not caring as more of the molding leather came off onto his hands, "What can I do for you?"

"Nothing, I'm just looking."

"A window shopper, eh? We get lots of those. 'Course," the man walked over to the store's counter and stepped behind it, "We don't get many that walk out empty handed. Sure you could find something."

Yuki shook his head and stepped back, "No, that's fine, I think I'll be going now," the blonde reached over to take his shoes from the cubby.

"Eh, wait a minute. I bet I could find you somethin' you'd like. No one ever comes in here just 'looking,' everyone always wants something. You don't look like you're short on cash either." The man cackled and pushed his glasses up, "Ah, why don't you come over here? I can find you something you'd like."

Yuki sighed and let his hand drop, he didn't really want to offend the old man, and it couldn't do any harm to humor him, so he walked over to the counter, "If you like."

"Alright then! What do you do for a living?" he grabbed a high seated chair next to him and pushed himself up onto it. "Wait, let me guess... you do something... intelligent. You look like you're not stupid."

"If you think it's intelligent, then sure."

"A smartass, eh? You write don't you?"

Yuki blinked a few times then nodded. Well, the old man wasn't completely inept. And if he were lucky, Yuki would get out of here with just some old book. The man chuckled and hopped off his seat, "Well, you do it for a living don't you? Get paid for it? Published, maybe?" he chuckled more as Yuki nodded to each question, "Thought so! I'm pretty good at guessing those things. You look kind of uptight, too." He chortled as Yuki stiffened, "Yeah, thought so. People like you usually are." The man rummaged through a chest in the front window, "I've got just the thing for you. I keep it locked in here, it's kind of valuable. Don't want people to go missing left or right, do we now?"

He hobbled back over behind the counter and placed a dusty, leather book down. Taking in a wheezing breath, he blew on the cover and smiled as an imprint of roses appeared under the dust, "Yep, had this for awhile now. It's really valuable. Good thing it looks pretty unassuming."

Yuki shrugged and looked at the leather bound book, "What's the story?"

"Story? Eh, no, it's a journal." The old man rose the book in his hands, "It's got a pen that goes with it, too. Somewhere around here..."

"I don't really need some ones used journal." Yuki sighed and stepped away from the counter – he'd humored the old man enough, and the dusty building was starting to affect his senses, "Thank you, but I think that I'll – "

"Wait just a minute! It's not used. And you'd want it, too," the man was looking around in the chest, "I know I have it around here somewhere – ah!" he smiled and produced a molded looking rose stem, "Perfect! Here's the pen for it – you dip it in ink and – "

"I don't think so, thank you for your time, though."

"Wait, now! Ok, you don't really need this, it just adds to the ambiance, really. Not that important. It's the journal you need," the old man tossed the decayed rose stem back into the chest and pushed the lid down. "Now you stay there and hear about this journal. I've got a story for everything in this shop and this one has the most interesting. It's true, too! A lot of the stories for stuff in here aren't true, though. But this one is." The old man nodded and hobbled back to his chair, smirking at the groaning Yuki.

"Now, then. This journal was made several years ago. Turn of last century, actually, early 1900s. Somewhere in England, I think. Maybe France, or Great Britain. I don't know, but somewhere around there." Yuki groaned and placed an elbow on the counter, propping his head up, "Now, before you get all huffy, listen to the rest of the story. One day, a young woman decided that she wanted to escape her life. She hated it, really. Oh, and she was a witch. A young witch wanted to escape her life. She also thought that it'd be great to escape into a fantasy world, you know, like you writers do. Escape into your story or something. I heard somewhere that's what you people like to do."

Yuki sighed as his posture sunk, "Well, one day, she decided that she'd write a story and escape into it. So, she poured all her heart and soul and torment into creating this journal. Then, she fashioned a pen out of a rose stem and wrote what she wanted her life to be like, with all her passion." Yuki's eyes drooped, "Her apprentice watched her do all this, left to get the witch some tea, came back, and saw that she was gone. The apprentice noticed one thing, though." Yuki's head drooped, "That the text in the journal was glowing! So she read the thing, noticing how every time she turned a page, more text formed. She read it until the last page, where the witch died after living a long life. Then," Yuki's arm slipped a bit and he stood up straight quickly, reminding himself not to fall asleep, "the writing all disappeared and the journal was blank. The end."

Yuki cleared his throat and nodded, "That was... interesting. I think I'll be leaving now."

"Come, now, you're not leaving without buying this, are you? And after I went through all that trouble. Most writers would jump at an opportunity to own this!"

Yuki sighed. He wasn't going to get this man off his back unless he bought it, "How much?"

"Oh, only around... two thousand yen."

"Goodbye."

"Wait, wait!" the old man rose a hand and the journal, "One thousand!"

Yuki grabbed his outside shoes from the cubby, "Thank you for the... story."

"Five hundred?"

He stepped over to the door and slid his shoes on.

"Oh, two hundred and fifty and that's my last offer!"

Yuki sighed and looked over at the flabbergasted man. He really didn't want to offend him, so... he reached into his back pocket, pulled out his wallet, and held out two hundred and fifty yen. The man smiled and grabbed the money, then handed the journal to Yuki, "Thank you! You won't be disappointed with this, oh no. Just make sure that you figure out how to get out of the book before you die or you'll die in there." Yuki nodded to the man and slipped out of the shop. He shook his head while he walked back to his car; "Sometimes I wonder why more people aren't in lunatic asylums..."

Yuki lounged on his couch, staring at the blank television screen and smoking a cigarette. In about... one minute, he mused; Shuichi would be bursting through the door going on about something that happened to him that day. Yuki pulled the cigarette out of his mouth and ground it into his ashtray, breathing out smoke. He glanced at the leather book next to him, two hundred and fifty yen really was too much for that piece of junk but he had felt some need to humor the man. What was that story he'd gone on about...? Something about a witch and a rose stem? Yuki shrugged and picked up the journal. Whatever it was, it really was a wonder that the book hadn't deteriorated like that rocking horse. The journal looked rather new. That old man had probably lied about it being so old.

The door clicked. Feet slid into fuzzy slippers, padded down the hall, then a blur of pink landed next to Yuki and arms squeezed his shoulders. The man sighed put the journal down in his lap, "What?"

"Yuki I'm home! K got really mad at me cause I was late and all but I told him that I wanted to spend time with Yuki so he said that I needed to spend more time getting over there and then Hiro said that K had a new gun and," Yuki stood up at some point in the babble, pushed Shuichi off, and walked into the kitchen. He sighed and opened the fridge, pulled out a beer, drank the entire can in one gulp, threw it out, then grabbed a pack of cigarettes. Shuichi was oblivious to absolutely everything Yuki did and just continued to follow him around like a puppy dog.

"So then I said that I didn't want any grapes and Sakano fainted and – " Yuki walked back into the living room and sat down on the couch, then picked up the journal. "Oh! What's that?" Shuichi looked at the rose imprint in the leather, "Pretty! Did you get that today?"

Yuki nodded and lit a cigarette. "What is it? Is it a book?" Yuki took a rather long drag and glared at Shuichi, then breathed the smoke out, "What kind of book?" Yuki took another breath and let it out. "Is it blank?" Breathe, "Where'd you get it?" Out, "Can I see it?" Breathe, "Yuki!" Out.

"What?"

"Where did you get it?"

"Some antique place near the shrines."

"Ohh. There's an antique place near the shrines?"

"Apparently."

"What is it? A journal? It looks like a journal. Why did you get it, do you need one of those or did you just think it was pretty?"

"Yes, it's a journal." He ground the cigarette into the ashtray, "And the shopkeeper forced me into buying it. I felt sorry for him, that place will probably close soon."

"I wanna see it before it does!"

Yuki stood up and started towards his office, "I'll be in my office."

"Yuki! You're on break, you don't need to be writing."

"No, I don't have a deadline." He stopped at his door and glanced over at Shuichi, then walked into the office. Shuichi took this as a 'I don't care if you come in' look and followed the writer right into the room. Yuki sat down at his desk and glanced at the journal still in his hand, "Hmm..."

"You should write something in it!"

"Why?" Yuki looked at the computer before him; "I have this."

"So? It looks kind of old. Maybe you should write a story in it! Like, to fit the time or something! I wanna see it; can I see it when you're done? You never let me read your stories."

"You can read...?"

Shuichi blinked momentarily then shook his head quickly, "Yuki's mean!"

Yuki sighed and pulled a pen from a drawer in his desk; "If I write that story will you promise to shut up the rest of the week?"

Shuichi nodded severely and scooted closer to Yuki, "Fine." The writer opened the book, listening to the crackling sound the old paper made, and turned to the first page. He didn't seem to acknowledge the faint smell of roses, or the faint red stains on the page, or the fact that the room got colder. He just placed the pen onto the paper and began to write, ignoring the suggestions from Shuichi that he write a romance novel about the two of them. Maybe he would do that, if Shuichi would shut up...

Yuki's eyes drooped suddenly and he didn't hear Shuichi's voice so loudly anymore. Nor did he notice the glowing computer screen in front of him, or the chair he was sitting on, or the pen in his hand. All he knew was the book lying in his lap. Shuichi had insisted that he write a story set in England in the early 1900s, since the book looked so much like that's where it was from. And he had insisted that everyone they knew be in it. Yuki didn't tell Shuichi that he already saw everything that was going to happen in the story, or that he knew everything that he would do.

Plus, at the moment, Yuki wasn't sure if he'd even finished the story yet. He was just sitting there, half conscious, with no sound or light around him except for the book. And then... faintly...

"Edward?"

Yuki's eyes adjusted slightly, "Are you listening to me?"

And slowly he could see the dim glow of fire and the faint warmth of being by a burning hearth. Yuki also smelled... potpourri, for some odd reason. He also found that he had no idea what he had been doing that day, or the previous weeks, and had the smallest idea that he was a writer named Edward Young in the 1910s in England and was currently sitting in his living room. And that he was listening to his publisher babble on about something. "Hmm...?"

"Edward, I said your maid has brought us tea." A young, elegant looking blonde man was sitting across from Edward, smirking, "Would you like some?"

"Ah, yes, thank you, Thomas." Suddenly, this all seemed very... right. And that he didn't know what was going on in the 21st century in Japan, nor did he really care. Neither did that seem odd or bother him. All he cared about right now was how nice his tea tasted and how comforting the fire felt. 

TBC

-~-

^_^; Well, uhm, that's the first chapter. It's really kind of slow, but it'll speed up in the next chapter. Did you like it? Oh I hope so! Should I keep going with this or is it so far fetched and weird that I should just drop it and stick to regular Gravi plots (or no Gravi at all @_@)?


	2. Chapter 1

Yay! I actually got reviews ^_^ Thank you Ayako, Serena, Cyhirae, chibiukyou, and Sarasi for reviewing ^_^ And yes, you can have the shopkeeper, chibiukyou, but don't complain if he piddles on the carpet or chews up all your favorite shoes. Oh, and I forgot last time, but thanks Shuchan and Kyuu for helping me get started on the story ^_^

They **did** have electricity and plumbing back then, in the cities. And the cast lives in a city. I don't know where. And the year is probably around 1910-1913, somewhere in there (I'd forgotten about the whole war thing, but it didn't start until 1914 so I'm safe.) Please forgive me for any inaccuracies. I haven't had a lot world history yet, only American Civics and a little bit if American History, and some Ancient world history.

Cast:

Yuki Eiri - Edward Young - 22 - Accomplished Novelist

Shuichi Shindo - Stuart Shubrook - 19 - Aspiring Poet and Song Composer

Seguchi Tohma - Thomas Savage - 32 - Wealthy Publishing Company Owner

Sakano - Kenneth Saunders - 29 - Stuart's Agent

K - Claude K. Winchester - 36 - American Ex-Mafia gunman, works for Thomas as an Agent

Sakuma Ryuichi - Reece Swift - 31 - Accomplished Poet and Song Composer

Nakano Hiroshi - Hugh Norris - 19 - Aspiring Violinist

Uesugi Tatsuha - Timothy Ulysses - 16 - Schoolboy

Suguru Fujisaki - Frederick Sullivan - 16 - Schoolboy and Aspiring Conducter/Composer

Noriko Ukai - Natalie Udell - 28 - Accomplished Pianist

Ayaka Usami - Anna Udolf - 17 - Schoolgirl

Rating: PG – PG-13

Disclaimer: I don't own Gravi. Maki Murakami does. I do own Mr. Avery and the plot, though.

**__**

Roses

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__

Chapter 1

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Thomas smiled at the maid and took the tea from her hands, chuckling as she blushed and hurried out of the room. He took a small sip of the warm liquid and leaned back in his chair, "I understand that you're not enthused about all of this, Edward, but I believe it's in your best interests."

Edward shrugged and watched the steam rise from the porcelain. For the past few days Thomas had been trying to get him to take on a student to tutor. He said it would be good publicity or that he'd look less cold. Edward had no idea why he would care, it's not like people paid any attention to how he acted, all they cared about was how enticing his books were, "It doesn't make any sense. And I don't really want to teach some brat how to write. You don't teach people how to write, Thomas, you either can or you can't. Apparently you can't get that in your head."

His publisher shook his head and set the teacup on its plate, "Honestly, you'd think that some things I say would have an impact on you. When has my advice gone wrong?"

"When has it not?"

Thomas placed the cup and plate on the table next to him and crossed his legs. Edward always was an impossible case, he'd known that when he signed him and he knew that whenever there was a deadline missed. Which was more and more frequent this past year. Thomas knew that if he got something to keep his mind off his problems that he'd work better. Or at least he'd be more social.

"Well, I really don't care if you don't want to do this. You're going to, I've already made the arrangements." The older man stood and walked over to the hearth, placing a forearm on the bricks above [AN: I have no clue what you call those], and watched his reflection in the ornate mirror, "I think it's a poet, or someone who wants to be a poet. I really don't remember," Thomas turned and looked at Edward, "But please, try to be civil to him at least. I know you hate the idea of teaching someone, or even being in the same room with someone else, but I really think it'll be good for you."

Edward shrugged and leaned forward, milling over the tea distractedly, "Since I must."

"Good." Thomas reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a pocket watch, flicking the case open, "Well, I think I should be going now. I'm glad you finally see my way."

"Only because you won't shut up about it." The writer stood and walked over to his friend, "I can't talk you out of it, can I?"

"No." Thomas smiled and pocketed his watch, then placed a hand on the other man's shoulder, "Oh cheer up, it won't be so bad."

"If it's anything like your other ideas I'm sure it will be."

The lighter blonde chuckled and took a step back, "See me out, then?" The two walked out of the study and to the front room, "Please don't scare the boy off." He pulled his jacket from the brass coat rack and opened the door leading outside; "It really won't be so bad."

"I'm teaching a boy? You want to make this as bad as you can for me, don't you?" Thomas laughed and nodded to Edward, then ducked outside into the dark night. Edward sighed, shutting the door silently, and turned to greet his maid, who was standing by the stairs to the second story, "I think I'll retire." The maid nodded to him and stepped aside, hurrying to the study to put out the fire.

He sighed and rose a hand to smooth his hair back. So, the next month or so of his free time was to be devoted to teaching some brat how to write. And write poetry, no less. That was one of the hardest things to write, much less teach. Edward walked over to the stairs and sat on the first few steps. It figured that Thomas wanted him to use his month vacation for this, he always demanded him to do moronic things when Edward was supposed to be resting. He sighed and lounged on the steps, watching as rain began to fall outside. At least Thomas would be walking home in the rain.

Edward undid his tie and loosened the buttons on his shirt, then pulled his vest off. The rain intensified and the man stood up, leaving the discarded clothes on his steps for the maid to clean up in the morning. He retreated upstairs into the shadows, listening to a clap of thunder. Then he flicked a light switch off and slunk into his room. Lightning flashed, illuminating the rooms with windows.

The chances of Thomas getting a carriage ride home at his hour were slim, and he had several blocks to walk to his house. Edward closed the door to his room, turned the light off, peeled the remaining pants and shirt off, climbed into his bed, and smiled.

Something wasn't right. Normally when Shuichi went on and on about things to Yuki he'd get some sort of reaction. Like 'Shut up, brat' or 'What are you doing here?' or 'Get out' or at least a little twitching. But for some reason all Yuki did was sit there. His eyes didn't twitch, his face didn't show signs of annoyance, and his hand didn't move across the page. He didn't even seem to be blinking. Shuichi rose a hand and waved it in front of Yuki's face, "Yuki?" No response to that either. It was now turn for Shuichi to decide that something was very, very wrong.

The frantic boy jumped up and started shaking Yuki's shoulders roughly, "Wake up!" he held his hand in front of Yuki's face, checking to see if the author was even breathing. Which he wasn't. Which wasn't good. Which had to mean one thing – Shuichi had killed Yuki. Shuichi screamed and fell back, "Yuki's gonna kill me!" he ran out of the room, continuing to scream, "I gotta call K! Wait, no, he'd kill me. Sakano! Wait, no, then he'd kill himself. Hiro! Yes!" Shuichi ran to the phone and picked it up, frantically dialing Hiro's number.

Unfortunately, Hiro wasn't home. This only caused more alarm for the pink haired singer. So, instead, he dialed Suguru's number. He wasn't home either. Then Ryuichi, who wasn't home, then Tohma, who wasn't home, then... well, pretty soon he'd called everyone he knew and come to one conclusion – somehow, someway, he'd killed everyone. Thus, the boy took this opportunity to do one thing, something he'd never done before. Shuichi's eyes glazed over and he fell back, fainted.

~-~

He turned in his bed, mumbling quietly in his half-sleep. Cheery birds chirped outside his slightly open window. A faint breeze wafted in with the sunlight. The sound of horses clapping against a cobblestone road was oddly soothing to his ears. Wait... Shuichi opened his eyes – since when did Tokyo have cobblestone roads? Or horses on them? He shoved the blankets off his body and ran to his window.

Yes, there was a cobblestone road, and horses, and women in long, heavy dresses walking with men in three-piece suits. It seemed rather normal, and yet... just a few seconds before, the boy had thought there was something extremely odd about it all. He turned, looking at his bed. That didn't look like his couch... wait, since when did he sleep on a couch? The boy shook his head quickly and walked over to his dresser, then looked down at the basin of water. His mother must have come in earlier and filled it. Then, he looked up at his reflection in the mirror and smiled.

Well, he smiled for a split second, before he realized that his hair didn't look quite right. And before he realized that his hair was red, and didn't it used to be pink? So, the boy, quite naturally, screamed.

Which caused his mother to run up the stairs and into his room, "Stuart! What happened?"

Stuart turned quickly to meet the face of his mother, "My hair-!"

Stuart's mother blinked, "What about it?"

The boy shook his head quickly and looked at his reflection again. What had been so odd about his red hair...? He'd been born with it, why did it effect him so much that moment? Stuart waved his mother away and dipped his hands into the basin. It was going to be a very odd day.

"Hugh!" Stuart's arms waved frantically at his best friend. Hugh glanced up from a newspaper he was reading and smiled, "Oh, Stuart!"

Stuart ran over to him, sitting on the park bench. He glanced over his friend's shoulder and then at his friend, "Anything today?" Hugh shook his head slowly and placed the paper down.

"I'm going to the music academy today. I heard from Professor Hallbrook that there's a spot open in a symphony for a third string violinist."

"That's great, Hugh! Do you think you'll get it?"

"I hope so. It's not a very big symphony, they play in small venues, but I still think it would do well for my career."

Stuart nodded at his friend and leaned back in his chair, "I heard from Mr. Saunders today."

The brunette blinked and looked over at him, "What did he say?"

"I'm going to be tutored."

Hugh sighed and placed a hand gently on Stuart's shoulder, "I'm sorry. I know you didn't want that to happen. You're not a... bad poet, really."

"I know! That's what I told Mr. Saunders, but he said that it would be best if I had a little more training... before I tried to be published."

"Well, at least he's helping you. Who's tutoring you?"

"Someone named... Edward Young."

Hugh blanched and turned sideways on the bench to face Stuart, "'Someone named Edward Young'? You mean you don't know who he is?"

"Should I?"

He sighed and shoved Stuart lightly. "He's a very well known, well respected, very popular romance author. I didn't know he tutored."

Stuart shrugged, not really caring that his tutor was some hot-shot, "Well, apparently he doesn't but Mr. Saunders found out that he just started. I think he's only taking one student."

"So, you're going to be the only, possibly first and last student, of the Edward Young, and you really could care less if he was a, say, butcher?"

The redhead nodded and leaned back in the bench, looking up at the sky. "Pretty much."

Hugh sighed again and shifted his seating to face the sidewalk in front of the bench. He didn't really understand Stuart – the boy said he wanted to be a famous poet but he wouldn't even keep track of who the main authors were. Not that Stuart ever did, or that he was a big fan of romance. Hugh wouldn't even know who Young was except for the fact that his mother was obsessed with his works.

Stuart stood up suddenly and glanced over his shoulder at Hugh, "I have to go to the market and buy some sugar. I suppose I'll see you tomorrow, unless you want to visit me tonight and tell me what happened."

Hugh shook his head, "I think I want to stay in tonight."

"All right." Stuart nodded to Hugh and walked off down the sidewalk.

~-~

"Sugar cane, sugar cane..." Stuart sighed and walked along the market street. His mother had plenty of sugar, really, she just wanted to make him do something. The boy ducked into their frequented store and greeted the owner, "Hello, Mr. Avery." The portly shop owner smiled to Stuart and nodded to him, walking out from behind his counter, "Stuart, boy, what brings you here?"

"I have to buy some sugar cane."

"Oh! Did your mother not feel up to coming out today?" Stuart shook his head, "Well, glad you came by. Don't see you around here much anymore. Heard from your mother you stay inside mostly."

Stuart shrugged and walked around the tiny shop, looking at some of the items Mr. Avery had for sale, "Well, I write mostly..."

"I see. Well, whatever makes you happy I suppose. So you need some sugar cane? How much is it?"

Stuart shrugged and pulled some money from his coat pocket, "I think it was two pounds."

"I see! Well, then," the owner walked over to a wooden bin full of sugar and took a small linen bag from a stack next to it, "I suppose that's all you'll be needing?" the owner looked up at Stuart expectantly, filling the bag.

"Yes, I think so... oh, but," he nodded to a can of licorice, "I'd like a couple of those, too."

Avery laughed and placed the two-pound bag of sugar on the counter, then grabbed a few pieces of licorice from the aforementioned can. "You still have that sweet tooth, don't you?" he chuckled as he handed Stuart the items and took the money. "Well, you should come by more often. If you do I promise I'll get you some more candy."

Stuart smiled and hefted the items in his arms, "Thanks, maybe I will. Bye Mr. Avery." He turned and moved to leave, not noticing the tall man entering the store, or hearing the faint tinkling of bells. And since he didn't notice this, he didn't move out of the way to avoid the man. Nor did the other man notice Stuart, although how he could miss bright red hair is quite unusual, and so they both were quite surprised when they collided. And when sugar spilled all over both of the men – into their clothes, hair, face, and eyes. Stuart coughed heavily and wiped the sugar off his clothes, then shook it out of his hair. "Watch where you're going!"

Mr. Avery looked on at the two, not interfering lest he get injured in the process. The taller, blonde man looked at Stuart, glaring. "You should have been looking. You were the one with..." he brushed a few grains from his face, "sugar."

Stuart seethed and pushed himself up, glaring as the other man did likewise, "It's your fault that I collided with you! If you had been looking where you were going, then – "

"If you had been looking where you were going then you would have avoided this and future collisions." The blonde man replied coolly, shaking his hair out, "I'm not the one who has to buy more sugar."

The younger man glared up at him, angry at the nerve of this rude, yet strikingly handsome, man. "Well you should have known that there was going to be someone leaving!"

"Why should I have?"

Stuart clenched his jaw, deciding against letting his mouth open and spill with insults. Of course, the fact that the man standing in front of him was probably the most attractive person to ever walk on the face of the planet wasn't helping him either. The tall man brushed past him and over to Mr. Avery, placing his order. Stuart's eyes just followed him as he felt a hot blush cross his cheeks. The red head turned abruptly and stormed out of the store, knowing that he didn't have enough money left to buy more sugar. He hoped his mother would understand his dilemma.

"Stuart! What happened to you?" Stuart's mother emerged from the kitchen, looking at her sugar-drenched son; "You look like you just took a bath in sugar! And – Stuart, where's the sugar cane?"

Stuart pointed to his clothes and hair, causing his mother to gasp, "Someone ran into me at Mr. Avery's Dry Goods Store and I just happened to be carrying the sugar. I'm sorry,"

His mother sighed and ran a flour-covered hand through her hair; "Well I suppose that my cake will just have to wait until tomorrow, then. It looks like it's going to start raining soon."

Stuart nodded and walked past her and up the stairs, "Make sure you rinse the sugar out of your hair! If you need soap there's some in the bathroom!"

The red and now white haired boy nodded to her, continuing up the stairs, "Stupid... why couldn't he of been looking where he was going?" He paused just outside the bathroom, "Of course, he was very attractive... I suppose you can't expect handsome people to be considerate." Stuart sighed and stripped out of his clothing, throwing them on the floor. Sighing, he ran the water in the bathtub, waiting until it filled halfway, then sunk down in. He shivered at the intense cold of the water and quickly rinsed as much sugar as he could out. "As long as I never see him again I'll be fine... ok, well," he lathered some soap into his hair, "If I never bump into him again I'll be fine. I wouldn't mind... seeing him."

Edward grumbled, bursting into his front parlor. Water dripped off his clothing and hair. Just as soon as he had gotten out of Mr. Avery's store, rain poured down. And it seemed like, Edward turned and looked outside, that it stopped as soon as he got in. So not only was he covered in sugar, but he was also wet and covered in sugar. Which meant that he was also very sticky. Edward pulled his tie off, then jacket, then vest, and dumped them on the ground. He called for his maid, continuing to strip in the parlor, "Clean those. Heat some water for me for a bath." He walked up the stairs in his underwear; not caring as his maid looked after him, blushing madly.

"Little brat. What in Gods name was he doing with so much sugar any ways?" the blonde grumbled as he waited for the water to heat, "I hope I never have to see him again."

~-~-~-~-~-~

Eee, thank you for reading ^_^; Pleeeaaase be a kind reviewer and review! I'm still a little skeptical about this plot (er, if there is one...), but I do so love the idea. And the more reviews I get the faster I update .o~ (no, really, it's true! I might actually finish this, too! Shock)


	3. Chapter 2

Thanks to****No One in Perticular (ano... isn't it Particular?), draguslavelina, Serena, TalonSage (very good point there, I'm really worried about all that, I hope I can keep it cohesive!), Nicky the Tokyo Boy (I love your Game Over story ^_^ I reviewed it and all but I think ff.net forgot to post it ;_;), Carolyn, chibiukyou (I love reading your reviews they make me smile ^_^), and CSMars for your reviews and encouragement ^_^ It really keeps me going!

I don't know if they had carriages or not in the 1910s, but since I'm not tooooo sure I'm keeping it until I can figure out. It's a good guess... and in the Time Machine movie the only car I saw was crappy and could only fit one person. I found out that homosexuality was shunned and highly opposed in that time period. That'll make it even harder for Yuki, I mean Edward, and Shu, I mean Stuart, to be together, ne? Oh, and since I'm recently a Ryuichi x Tatsuha fan (and Tohma x Sakano), expect those couplings at **some** point in the story ^_^; (if I don't get around to getting them in this, yell at me or demand I write one with them .o I'll do it, really!)

Cast:

Yuki Eiri - Edward Young - 22 - Accomplished Novelist

Shuichi Shindo - Stuart Shubrook - 19 - Aspiring Poet and Song Composer

Seguchi Tohma - Thomas Savage - 32 - Wealthy Publishing Company Owner

Sakano - Kenneth Saunders - 29 - Stuart's Agent

K - Claude K. Winchester - 36 - American Ex-Mafia gunman, works for Thomas as an Agent

Sakuma Ryuichi - Reece Swift - 31 - Accomplished Poet and Song Composer

Nakano Hiroshi - Hugh Norris - 19 - Aspiring Violinist

Uesugi Tatsuha - Timothy Ulysses - 16 - Schoolboy

Suguru Fujisaki - Frederick Sullivan - 16 - Schoolboy and Aspiring Conducter/Composer

Noriko Ukai - Natalie Udell - 28 - Accomplished Pianist

Ayaka Usami - Anna Udolf - 17 - Schoolgirl

Rating: PG – PG-13

**__**

Roses

~-~-~-~-~-~

Today was going to be a bad day. Scratch that, today was already a bad day. Edward woke up to a heavy storm, felt a cold from his excursion the previous night, and felt a headache. The writer groaned and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, then stood. Edward stepped forward and, in accordance to today being a bad day, immediately stubbed his foot on his nightstand table. "Damnit!"

Edward grumbled and hobbled over to his dresser and splashed some water on his face, then got dressed.

"Mr. Young?" Edward glanced up from his meager bowl of oatmeal and cup of tea.

"What?"

His maid curtsied quickly and took a step away from him. "You have a visitor."

Edward sighed and leaned forward, massaging his forehead. That little brat he was supposed to tutor came awfully early. And Edward had hoped to sneak out unnoticed and avoid the whole matter, "Fine."

"Shall I bring him in, sir?"

He shrugged and finished his tea. The maid curtsied again and hurried out of the kitchen. Edward looked down, shielding his eyes. "You're too early. I'm not going to tutor you at this hour so it'd be in your best interests to go home."

"Edward!" The man's head lifted upon hearing a soft, effeminate voice. Of course, it had to be Thomas. Of course he wouldn't let Edward sneak out and ditch his appointment, "I'm glad I caught you before you left."

He grunted. Thomas merely smiled and took a seat across from him, "You didn't honestly think I'd let you get away with skipping your lesson? You're worse than a school child."

"I was hoping you'd forget."

"Honestly Edward, since when do I forget?"

The younger blonde picked up his dishes and walked over to his kitchen counter, placing them in the sink. "Edward, why do you eat in the kitchen? I mean, isn't that typically where the maid would eat?"

"My dining room is too empty." Edward turned and sat down in his chair again, "I prefer eating in here, it's not as formal."

"Really, Edward, you could just find some girl and marry her, if you're so lonely. I'm sure it wouldn't be too hard."

"And have a marriage like you and Marianne?" The writer shook his head, "No, I think not. And besides, I would just be distracted. Only women writers have marriages."

"I'm just thinking about your best interests."

Edward scoffed, "I'm sure."

His publisher sighed and leaned back in his chair. Edward glanced at him, an eyebrow raised, "When are you leaving?"

"When your student does."

"So not only am I stuck with some brat who couldn't write if he were Lord Tennyson himself, but I'm stuck with your face all day."

"Precisely."

"Wonderful..." Edward stood and pushed his chair into the table, "I'm going to my study. You can stay, but don't bother me until that boy arrives."

Thomas nodded and stood also, following Edward out of the kitchen. The blonde turned quickly and glared at his publisher, "Which means that you stay out of the study until then." Thomas blinked and watched the study door shut in his face. The older man sighed and turned to look at Edward's maid, "Is he always this cold?"

"Ah! Y-yes, sir." The maid curtsied quickly, blushing. Thomas sighed and leaned up against Edward's door, "What an odd man..."

The 'odd man' was currently pacing in his study. He hadn't let Thomas in not because he wanted to be alone, which was partly true, but because he knew that he'd try to kill the man if he was alone in the same room with him for too long. Not only had he made him give up his break but he'd done it the day Edward's vacation started. And not only did Edward have to tutor some brat with less talent than his pinky, but he'd have to do it the day after his vacation started. Which happened to be today.

And with Edward's luck, the boy would be early.

~-~

"Stuart!" The young man was being roughly shoved by... someone. He just grumbled and turned away. Again the hands were on his shoulders, pushing him, "Stuart, you need to get up now. Didn't you say you were meeting Mr. Saunders before you went to your tutoring session?"

"I can go later..."

"It's already nine, Stuart." He sighed and turned over, looking at his mother. She nodded, gave him another shove, and left the room. Stuart grumbled again and sat up in his bed, "I don't want to see Mr. Saunders or that Edward Young guy..." The red-head fell back against his pillow and closed his eyes...

"STUART!"

"Yes, mother..."

"Honestly, Stuart, you need to do something with this poetry of yours. Make some money, get out of the house. You're 19 years old, many of your friends are already married!"

He groaned and took an apple from the fruit basket on the kitchen table, "Yeah, yeah. I'm going to go now."

"Don't screw this up this time, Stuart, I mean it! Be respectful of Mr. Young, he's doing you a big favor by tutoring you. And thank Mr. Saunders."

Stuart nodded during her little lecture and bit into the apple, "Yeah, yeah." He left the kitchen and headed for the door.

"And don't talk with your mouth full!"

Not surprisingly, when Stuart arrived at Mr. Saunders house, the man was in a frenzy. And also not surprisingly, he about had a heart attack when he saw Stuart arrive at his front doorstep. The frenetic man quickly ushered his client in the door, "Where have you been?!"

"Sorry, Mr. Saunders."

"'Sorry'! Will you say sorry at my funeral when you finally kill me?"

"Yes?"

Mr. Saunders let out a quiet girlish scream and took a step back. "You'll be the death of me!" Stuart sighed and led his hysteric agent into the man's parlor and sat him down on his couch. He sweated slightly as the man crumpled into a heap.

"Uh, I'll go get you a glass of water..." Stuart hurried out of the room and to the kitchen to retrieve water for his mentor. He sweated again as he came back into the room and found Mr. Saunders all over the floor, mumbling to himself. "M-Mr. Saunders?"

"Stuart!" he jumped up and ran over to the boy, "You're late! You have to meet Mr. Young in a little while and I have to accompany you and, and Mr. SAVAGE will be there!" He flustered and took the glass, drinking all of the water in one gulp, then tossing it (Stuart made a dive and caught it) aside.

"Uh... all... right..." The boy coughed and walked back into the kitchen, placing the cup on the small table in there, then walked back into the parlor, "Are you alright Mr. Saunders?"

"I'm fine, apart from the fact that you just gave me a heart attack, I'm just dandy!"

Stuart coughed again, "That's... good. I think."

"Have you met Mr. Young before?" Mr. Saunders walked over to his couch and plopped down, looking at Stuart, "I haven't but I hear he's very talented."

The boy sat down next to his agent and shrugged, "Hugh told me a little about him yesterday."

"Ah! Hugh knows about him?"

"I guess he does."

"Well..." he looked around, as if someone was listening to their conversation, "I heard from Mr. Savage," he smiled, "that he's a cold-hearted bastard."

"Mr. Saunders!"

He shrugged. "I'm just saying what I heard." Stuart sighed and looked down at his hands, twiddling his thumbs idly. He didn't think it would be too pleasant to work with an eccentric egotistical writer that didn't even have social skills. He had to be eccentric and egotistical, all writers were. Except for him, of course. Stuart coughed.

"I'm sorry?"

"Ah, it's nothing, Mr. Saunders."

Somewhere in the man's house, a clock chimed eleven times. Mr. Saunders scrambled and turned to Stuart, "Eleven! You have to meet Mr. Young in a few minutes!"

"You're coming, aren't you?"

"That's right!" Mr. Saunders stood up and put a hand to his forehead, "I'm coming too! And Mr. Savage is there and – " the older man turned to Stuart and grabbed hold of the boy's wrists, "I'm going to have a heart attack, I know it!"

Stuart closed his eyes and smiled uneasily, "It'll be fine, Mr. Saunders. I'll try to behave."

"It's not **you** I'm worried about, Stuart!"

The red-haired boy coughed and stood up, prying his hands from Mr. Saunders's grip, "Ah, should we go now?"

"Go..."

"Yes, to Mr. Young's house."

"Of course!" Mr. Saunders grabbed Stuart's arm, then his coat, then ran out of his house. He waved for a carriage, even though Mr. Young only lived a couple blocks away, and climbed in with Stuart.

"Are you going to stay in there all day, Edward?"

The writer glanced up from his seat at the couch in his study, "Yes. Yes, I am." He could hear Thomas's exasperated sigh, then a shuffle of feet.

"It won't do either of you any good if you teach the boy through a wooden door."

"Tough."

Thomas sighed again and turned to face the door, seeing a carriage pull up outside, "They're here." He walked over to the door and pulled it inward, smiling at the frantic agent and the red-haired boy trailing behind him.

"They?"

"Yes, didn't I tell you Mr. Saunders was coming with him?"

Edward stood up and walked to his study door, cracking it open a bit, "Who?"

"You know, that agent that always seems to go into cardiac arrest when something wrong happens." [1]

"Oh." Edward started to shut the door again before Thomas dove in and placed his fingers in between the door and the frame.

"Please try to be civil, Edward. It'll go along a lot smother that way."

"Do I have to deal with you all day?"

"Oh, no!" Thomas smiled disarmingly, "Just until I'm sure you two won't kill each other."

"Mr. Savage!" The black haired man by the door huffed, placing a hand on the frame. He stood quickly and wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead, then pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, "I'd forgotten you were going to be here!"

"You were talking about him the whole time on the way here..." A red-haired boy grumbled, pushing his way past Mr. Saunders.

"Ah, Stuart, what are you talking about?"

"You must be Mr. Shubrook, correct?" A blonde feminine man walked up to Stuart and grasped his hands, "Pleasure to meet you."

Stuart smiled and shook Thomas's hand quickly, "Y-you too. You're the publisher, right? Thomas Savage? You're a famous writer! You wrote songs for Natalie Udell with Reece Swift!"

The blonde man smiled, "Yes. You know your history."

"Ah, well, I'm sort of a fan," Stuart rubbed the back of his head nervously. Thomas continued smiling and turned to nod at the study door, "Edward is in there. He won't come out, he's an obstinate ass." [AN: y'know... like a donkey or mule or... yeah.]

"Mr. Savage?"

"Yes Mr. Saunders?"

"Are we to stay here the whole afternoon?" The agent looked at his superior, a sort of hopeful gleam in his voice and eyes.

"Well, if Edward refuses to come out, then we probably will."

"Oh, good!" Mr. Saunders smiled, straightening his posture.

"Excuse me?"

"I-I mean, it's good that... that we'll be spending time – I mean, with Stuart and – no, not that – "

Stuart coughed stepped back to his mentor, clamped a hand on the man's shoulder, and pushed him forward, "So, if he doesn't come out, can I go home?"

"No."

"So... I'd just be stuck here all day, sitting around waiting to see if he comes out?" Thomas nodded.

"Oh..." Stuart ran over to the study door and pounded on it, "Hey! Come out!" just as he got the 'out' out, the door opened, "Eh?" Apparently Edward had forgotten to close it all the way... The boy shrugged and pushed the door all the way open, walking into the room. Thomas and Mr. Saunders followed behind him – Thomas curiously, Mr. Saunders hesitantly.

"Mr. Young?" Stuart walked forward, seeing the back of a blonde haired man standing in front of the study's side window, "Ah, it's Mr. Shubrook. Your... student."

The writer's head shifted slightly, turning to an almost profile, but Stuart still couldn't see his face, "Damn... didn't get the door closed did I?"

"No." The man sighed and turned fully to greet Stuart, deciding that it was best to just get this over with, since Thomas surely wasn't going to let him get away with skipping every meeting. But, when Edward turned and saw the boy, he had this odd sense of deja vu. Like he'd seen him somewhere... and then images of sugar and licorice flashed in his mind. Then he saw the boy's bright red hair and shocking violet eyes and came to one conclusion...

Stuart smiled hesitantly as the man turned, deciding it was best to make some sort of good impression on him. Except, he looked kind of familiar. A lot like that man he'd run into, literally, at Mr. Avery's store the other day. He had the same blonde hair, gold eyes, and was exceptionally tall and handsome. And he had the exact same scowl the other man had. Which meant one thing to Stuart...

"You!" they screamed in fury, pointing fingers accusingly. Thomas sighed and placed a hand to his forehead, Mr. Saunders flailed his arms upwards and sank to the ground, and they both had one thought on their mind – it was going to be a long day.

~-~-~

[1] – I don't know if "cardiac arrest" was a term used then or not. I tried other phrases but that one just worked the best. If you know if it was a known term please tell me .o

And again thanks for reading! Please be a nice reader and review, too (encouragement is especially good, cause it fuels me, but **constructive** criticism [not flames!] is good too!). I actually finished with a cliffhanger! I love writing cliffhangers. When I first thought about the idea for this chapter I was just going to have them actually have the session, but when I figured that I could squeeze in 6 pages meantime, I decided to do the cliffy ^_^; (I'm also surprised at how fast I'm writing this! I only started on Thursday!)

Eee~ and when I first submitted I forgot that Yuki has GOLD eyes .o stupid me.


	4. Chapter 3

Thank you Serena and chibiukyou (I like long [positive] reviews!) for reviewing! There are a bunch of (ok only three) shounen ai couple hints in this chapter, but I won't say which ones (you can pretty much guess). I want to do a RyuTatsu or Tohma x Sakano one-shot PWP fluffy lemon scented songfic soon. I know the song – it works best for the latter pairing, but * shrug* What do you all think? 

Oh, and if I figure out whether or not they had hand lotion, lube, or Vaseline back then, I might do a lemon in this story. It just depends on what was available. If none of the above were (please someone tell me!) then I won't attempt one. And **please** forgive me if I have a lot of errors in it! I'm my own beta-reader .o I'm not that keen on the uptake. I'd gladly accept a beta-reader if anyone here has Yahoo! Messenger and wants to do it. * begs* Please!

Cast:

Yuki Eiri - Edward Young - 22 - Accomplished Novelist

Shuichi Shindo - Stuart Shubrook - 19 - Aspiring Poet and Song Composer

Seguchi Tohma - Thomas Savage - 32 - Wealthy Publishing Company Owner

Sakano - Kenneth Saunders - 29 - Stuart's Agent

K - Claude K. Winchester - 36 - American Ex-Mafia gunman, works for Thomas as an Agent

Sakuma Ryuichi - Reece Swift - 31 - Accomplished Poet and Song Composer

Nakano Hiroshi - Hugh Norris - 19 - Aspiring Violinist

Uesugi Tatsuha - Timothy Ulysses - 16 - Schoolboy

Suguru Fujisaki - Frederick Sullivan - 16 - Schoolboy and Aspiring Conductor/Composer

Noriko Ukai - Natalie Udell - 28 - Accomplished Pianist

Ayaka Usami - Anna Udolf - 17 - Schoolgirl

Rating: PG – PG-13

Disclaimer: Me not own Gravitation. You is not stupid enough to believe me does is you? Maki Murakami does. I own Mr. Avery and the plot. Maybe Stuart's mother (in the STORY, not in the manga... sheesh silly people) but I don't wanna put claim on her, she's annoying.

**__**

Roses

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

__

Chapter 3

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

"I want that brat out of my house, now!"

Thomas sighed, walking into the study. He stood behind Stuart, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder. Gently, he whispered to him that he'd calm Edward down and to give him time. Of course, that was before he noticed that Stuart was practically glowing red and threatening to explode any moment. Thomas coughed and looked between the two. Meanwhile, Mr. Saunders was banging his head against the doorframe to the study, mumbling something about being fired.

"Oh I'm going! I wouldn't stay in this house if you paid me!" Stuart turned to leave, stopping only when Thomas grabbed his arm roughly.

"Please, both of you, calm down. What is all this about?"

"It's his fault!" they chimed in unison, then turned around, their backs facing. Thomas sighed walked over to Edward, figuring he'd be more likely to tell him what was wrong.

"I'm not tutoring him, Thomas. No matter how much you nag me I won't."

"Would you tell me what happened?" He stepped in front of Edward, "Please?"

"I'll tell you what happened!" Stuart ran over to Thomas, pushing Edward aside. "He ran into me at Mr. Avery's, while I was carrying a bag of sugar, and knocked me down **and** got sugar all over me **and** had the nerve to tell me it was my fault when it was **his** fault because he wasn't looking where he was going and – "

Edward grumbled and pushed Stuart away, "Little brat. I knew you were trouble."

"Oh is that was all this is about...?" Thomas sweated a bit, watching Mr. Saunders have convulsions on the study floor, "Well, how about you both just apologize and we get on with the tutoring?"

"Apologize? To him? Never!" Stuart huffed and crossed his arms, looking away.

"It wasn't my fault."

Thomas groaned and rubbed his forehead slowly, "Look, I really don't want a headache today, so either you two apologize and be civil or you go through this lesson with me and – " he glanced at Mr. Saunders, now in a dazed and comatose state. "Well, go through this lesson with me watching your every move like a hawk. And for every lesson after."

"Fine with me!" again they shouted at him. Thomas sighed and grabbed hold of Edward's collar, sat him down on the couch next to him, then grabbed Stuart's arm and sat him down in the chair across from him. Then, he walked over to Mr. Saunders, pulled him up into a crawling position, and ushered him to the chair next to Stuart. Thomas sighed again and sat down next to Edward.

"Now, we will be calm and we will be civil. And if you're good I promise I'll only stay for half of the session next time. And, please," he glanced at Mr. Saunders, "don't do anything to make him have a heart attack. Please, I don't want to go to a funeral so early this year."

Stuart and Edward grumbled, their arms crossed, and looked out the window next to them. Thomas smiled and looked at Stuart, crossing his legs, "Now, Mr. Shubrook, you brought examples of your work, correct?" Stuart nodded, "Well, please hand them to Mr. Young."

Stuart grumbled and remained still. Thomas sighed and stood up, walking over to Mr. Saunders, and pulled a briefcase from the dazed man's arms. He then walked back to the couch and sat down, handing the briefcase to Edward, "They're in here, I assume?" Stuart nodded again. Thomas smiled and opened the briefcase, pulling out the top papers. "Now, read them Edward."

The writer grumbled and shoved the briefcase off his lap and into Thomas's, then looked at the paper. A scowl formed on his face, more menacing then before, and his eyes scanned the page. Stuart squirmed uncomfortably in his seat and glanced at Mr. Saunders. Slowly, he poked the man's head, giggling as he didn't even twitch. He amused himself for awhile, poking the poor agent's face in several places, stopping only when Thomas cleared his throat, "Mr. Shubrook."

"Sorry." He placed his hands in his lap, bowing his head. Occasionally he'd glance back at Mr. Saunders, watching for some sort of change in his demeanor, but gave up after a minute and concentrated on his hands.

"Humph." Thomas glanced at the blonde sitting next to him and quirked his head.

"Edward?"

"I have to teach this crap?" The writer put the paper down in his lap, glancing at his publisher, "I can't teach him. Nobody could teach someone who wrote," he picked up the paper and shook it at Stuart, "wrote this kind of crap!" Edward looked at Stuart, glaring, "I've seen five year olds that wrote better than this. Useless."

Thomas sighed and leaned forward, resting his forehead in the palms of his hand. Mr. Saunders twitched. Stuart stood up from his seat and glared at Edward, "You only say that because you're bitter! And lazy!"

Edward walked over to his study desk and pulled a cigarette from a box, then grabbed a match from one next to the other and lit the cigarette. He put the match out and dropped it in his garbage pail, then dropped Stuart's papers in after. The man walked around the desk and sat down, breathing in the unfiltered smoke.

Stuart ran over to the desk, slamming his hands on the wood, "Listen to me!" The writer didn't look up, just closed his eyes and blew out a puff of smoke into the boy's face. "Damnit! I bet your stories are crap! People probably only say they're good cause they know how vain you are and they don't want to hurt your feelings!"

"Even if that's true they certainly sell more than yours ever will." Edward opened an eye, looking at the fuming boy. He stood, walking around the desk, past Stuart, past Mr. Saunders, past Thomas, and to the door. "Don't expect me to do this again, Thomas."

His publisher groaned quietly and kept his head down. Mr. Saunders convulsed and fell out of his chair. The writer glanced over at Stuart briefly, "I gave you all the teaching you'll need. Don't write again, it's worthless. Garbage. Try something else, like cleaning. Maybe someone would hire you to sweep their chimney." He turned towards the door, taking a step forward.

Just then, Stuart's head practically exploded. He'd never met anyone in his life so vain, so self involved, so, so, so stupid in his whole life! He ran to the couch that Thomas was sitting at, grabbed a pillow from it, and then ran over to Edward, throwing the pillow at the back of his head. Edward stumbled an inch, quickly recovered, and kept walking until he was out of the study and turned, walking down the hall.

"I'm very sorry, Mr. Shubrook. Mr. Saunders." Thomas sighed and stood up, walking over to Stuart; "He's... like this a lot. He'll be better next time."

"'Next time'? There won't be a next time, I'm not coming back!"

Mr. Saunders took this opportunity to awaken from his dazed convulsing sleep and stagger to Stuart, "No, you can't! I mean you have to! I mean, please, come back! I mean – " he rose a hand to his forehead, staggering a bit. Thomas stepped next to Mr. Saunders and put an arm around his shoulder, helping him stand straight.

"If you don't come back then Mr. Saunders might have a heart attack."

"Another one I feel right now..." the agent replied, glancing at his superior with glossy eyes.

"I don't care! That man is selfish, arrogant, stupid, I don't want to deal with him again!"

"Well, I'm sorry, Mr. Shubrook, but," he let go of Mr. Saunders momentarily and took a step to Stuart. The agent fell over, fainted, "I'm afraid that's not an option. I have it scheduled for both of you to work together. You're both clients of mine, and I like it if my clients get along."

Stuart crossed his arms and turned away from the older man, "I don't care..."

"Please, I promise I'll work on him. He'll have better manners next time."

The red haired boy remained silent, arms crossed. If you looked hard enough, you could see steam rising from his head. Thomas turned and picked Mr. Saunders up, depositing him on Stuart's back. The boy turned quickly and grabbed hold of his mentor, then looked at Thomas, "Do I have to?"

"I'm afraid so."

Stuart sighed and nodded, then pulled his agent out of the room, "Does he know when I have to be back...?" he hefted Mr. Saunders up an inch, then left him fall back.

"I think so. I'll contact him in any case and tell him." Thomas escorted them to the door, "I really am sorry about all of this. I know that if I can just get him to be civil that he'll offer you useful advice."

"He already told me to stop writing!"

"Yes, well.... As I said, he's like that. You're not a bad writer, really Mr. Shubrook, and he is a vain man, even if he won't admit it. I'm sure I can get him to be a little kinder next time."

Stuart slapped Mr. Saunders and watched the man wake up and stand straight. He nodded to Thomas, then elbowed Mr. Saunders, causing him to nod, and they both left the house. Thomas turned abruptly, smelling cigarette smoke enter the room, and watched Edward lean against the doorframe leading into the parlor.

"I'm not tutoring that boy."

"Yes, you are." Thomas walked over to him.

"No, I'm not."

"I don't care what you say or do, Edward, you are going to tutor that boy. And you are going to get along. And if I have to stay here the whole time guiding you both through it, I'll do it. But," he walked into the parlor, Edward following; "If I have to attend Mr. Saunders funeral then I'm going to kill you. Understood?"

Edward nodded slowly and put the cigarette out in the ashtray on the parlor's table. Thomas smiled and sat down on a red couch, "Good! Now, we have to work on this little attitude problem of yours, since you scared away your student and we both have the rest of the afternoon off, I'm going to teach you some manners."

The writer groaned and looked around for cigarettes. Noticing there weren't any in the room, he moved for the door, but stopped when Thomas jumped up and slammed the door shut, "And we'll start with the matter of you blowing smoke in peoples faces!"

"He makes me so angry!" After Stuart and Mr. Saunders left Edward's house, Stuart dropped Mr. Saunders off at his place and told him to rest. Then, after some convincing to his agent that he was no longer at Mr. Young's house, he left for the neighborhood park to meet Hugh. Every day since they were boys they would meet there and walk around the place, talking about things that troubled them or what they were doing in their life. It was rather relaxing. Except for today, when Stuart stomped along the cobblestone path, kicking stray rocks.

"He's just trying to get you angry." Hugh glanced down at his petite friend, then at the victim rocks along the path. He was glad there weren't any sleeping chipmunks or dogs – which Stuart would probably kick if he saw. "You shouldn't let it get to you."

"I can't help it! He's so mean and stupid and arrogant and oh I just wish he were dead!" A dog barked a few feet away and Stuart's angered gaze shot towards the sound. Hugh coughed and clamped a hand on the boy's shoulder, pushing him forward.

"If you just be the adult in this situation... no, if you just try to be at least some-what civil then you both can get through this. You're both... not children. So act like it."

Stuart crossed his arms, continuing to walk and kick stones at the same time. A few girls walking towards them further down the path watched the distraught red-haired boy and the older, handsome brunette walk by him. The girls swooned quietly as they passed, whispering behind their hands. Hugh noticed and smiled at them, causing the girls to blush, Stuart just kept kicking rocks. "If only I could do something to show he's not the big-shot he thinks he is! Then he could be brought down a few pegs."

"Well, since you both seem to be so hot-headed, I doubt anything either of you do would be beneficial. Except to get feelings hurt."

"Humph..." Stuart stopped at a rowan tree and ducked beneath the branches, leaning against its trunk. Hugh followed suit, only standing just in front of him. The taller man smiled reassuringly and placed a hand on the redhead's shoulder.

"It'll work out. And if it doesn't, then it's ok. You've had worse critics before."

"Yeah, well, he's just so... ugh!" Stuart looked away, seething, "There's just something about him that makes me really angry!"

"What is it?"

Stuart shrugged Hugh's hand off his shoulder and took a step away from the tree, "I don't know. He's just so arrogant about it and thinks he's so much better than I am! I can't stand people like that."

"You've known other people like that and this is the first time I've seen you act like this."

"Well, he's different." An indescribable look flashed in Hugh's eyes and his expression seemed to fall a bit, but it happened to quickly for Stuart to notice or care.

"I see..."

"Anyway!" Stuart walked past Hugh and onto the path again, "What happened at your audition?"

The violinist smiled, turning to face Stuart, "It went rather well, actually." He walked over to the shorter man; "They seemed to like how I played."

"Did you get the position?" They started walking.

"Well..."

"Did you?"

Hugh paused, stopping his stride. Stuart blinked, turning back to face his friend, "Don't tell me that – "

"I got it." Hugh smiled widely, looking off down the path. Girls within a ten-yard radius swooned and blushed, "It took a lot of work, but I got the position."

Stuart gave a shout of encouragement and lunged at his friend, hugging him, "That's great, Hugh! They made a good choice! I'll have to write some songs for you to play!"

"I've got a better idea," he smiled and fell in step with Stuart again, "how about I write the songs and you write the lyrics and you can be a famous singer?"

"Opera!"

"Or club."

The two boys smiled and continued down the pathway, talking about their futures. Stuart forgot about Edward for awhile and Hugh was glad – something about the way the boy talked about him made him uneasy.

"Stuart?"

He yawned, stretching his arms out as he entered his family's house. "I'm home!" The red-haired boy walked a few steps, then stuck his head into the kitchen, "Hello, mother!" Stuart's mom looked up at him, her hands covered in water. She flashed him a distraught grin and walked towards him.

"Stuart, I need you to get me some things."

"What kind of things?" he walked over to the table, grabbing the last apple from their fruit basket.

"Things like that. Can you go into the market square and get me some fruit and sugar? Maybe flour?"

Stuart nodded, biting into the juicy red fruit, "Jus' gi' meh the mone'."

His mother sighed, shaking her hands out, "What did I say about talking with your mouth full?"

The boy swallowed and looked at her, "Don't do it?"

"Exactly. Stuart, how did your tutoring session go?"

He coughed, taking another bite of the apple. Nervously, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Stuart's mother rose an eyebrow at him and walked over to the sink, "Well?"

Stuart shrugged, "Can I have the money? I'll go get the – "

"No. How did it go?"

"Um..." he sweated, taking another bite of the apple.

"Stuart, I want you to tell me what happened." The boy pointed to his mouth and shrugged, signaling that he couldn't talk. His mother groaned and raised her arms in annoyance, "Swallow and tell me what happened."

He complied, "Ah, Mr. Saunders fainted... several times. And I met Mr. Young."

"Oh poor Mr. Saunders. What is the writer like?"

"He's an ass."

"Stuart!" His mother walked over to him, placing her hands on her hips.

"What? Mr. Savage said the same thing!"

"I don't care what Mr. Savage says, you won't use that language in here."

The boy sighed and took another bite into his apple. His mother walked over to the kitchen counter and picked up a few pounds, then walked back to Stuart. "This should be enough." she deposited it in his free hand, "Now, I would have you sit down and tell me everything that happened but I really do need some fruit, sugar, and flour. You have to tell me when you get back." She nodded to the kitchen door, "Go on, now."

Stuart nodded and took a couple more bites of the apple, then pocketed the money into his vest pocket and hurried out of the house.

"Ah, Stuart!" Mr. Avery stepped out from behind his store counter upon the boy's entrance. "Got all cleaned up, I see. I'm sorry that happened to you, that man has just recently started to come to my store. I guess he's not the most courteous of people."

Stuart shrugged and walked over to the counter, leaning against it, "Oh well. I need flour and sugar." Mr. Avery nodded and went to get the boy's items.

"I would have given you another bag if you wanted. I've known your family for a long time; you're good business. Tell you what." he walked over to the weights and placed a bag of flour on it, "How about the sugar is on me. Two pounds, right?" Stuart blinked and nodded demurely, "Well, that's not too bad. And it's not like you used it. I have plenty."

He smiled and placed the sack of flour on the counter, then went to get some sugar, "Well, what have you been up to today? Not often you come in twice in a row. I heard from your mother that you had a tutoring session today. How did it go?"

Stuart coughed and looked off to the side, "Well..."

"Ah, here you go!" Mr. Avery smiled and placed the sugar on the counter. Stuart nodded and handed him the money.

"Is it ok if I come by later and get it after I get the fruit?"

Mr. Avery nodded to him and Stuart left the shop. It wasn't all that busy, the market street, at this time of day. A few of the fruit sellers were meandering, talking amongst themselves about the weather and what kind of business they'd had. Stuart smiled and walked towards a vendor that his family frequented. The fruit seller stopped his conversation with the seller next to him and smiled at Stuart, "What'll it be today?"

"Hm... A bushel of apples, I think."

"Might I interest you in some of these oranges?" the vendor smiled and rose a ripe orange, "They're very good!"

"Not at this time of year."

"How about these bananas?"

"Too expensive."

"Pineapple?"

"Too prickly."

"Uhm... plums?" the vendor coughed and raised a plum. Stuart shook his head and took a bag of apples, then paid the man.

"Maybe some other time. All I need are apples right now." The seller nodded and took the money. Nobody ever wanted the exotic fruit. Well, except for that one customer that happened to come up just next to Stuart and pick up a few bananas. He paid the vendor then turned, but not before Stuart looked up and saw his face. And noticed one thing – he looked very familiar. And had blonde hair, goldish gray eyes, and was rather tall. And bared a striking resemblance to Edward Young. Wait a minute...

"Hey!" The writer turned slightly, looking over his shoulder. "Yeah, you! What are you doing out here? Come to stalk me and tell me how inept I am?"

"I'm here for fruit." He calmly responded, raising the yellow fruit in his hands. Stuart seethed and took a step forward, fist clenched.

"Yeah right!"

Edward shrugged and started to walk forward again. Stuart's whole body started to twitch and he felt a very strong urge to hurt someone. Like Edward. With a blunt object to his head. Like – he reached and grabbed an orange – this fruit right here. Stuart reared his arm back and threw the orange, smiling as it hit the blonde's head. The man paused, rubbing the back of his head with his free hand, and looked over at Stuart, "What is it with your obsession with hitting me?"

"I am not obsessed with hitting you!"

"That's the second time today." The writer replied, and turned to leave again.

"Well that's the second time today I've had to see your face! Next time I'll hit that instead!"

"There you go with your obsession." He said, just loud enough for Stuart to hear, and walked away, ignoring the loud obscenities the younger man shouted at him. It was bad enough he'd had to deal with him yesterday and that afternoon, then with Thomas, but to have to get hit by the boy in the evening when he was trying to get food? Cruel.

The aforementioned boy stormed in the door of his family's house, dropped the bag of apples at his feet, and ran upstairs in fury. His mother came out of the kitchen, shouting up at Stuart that he wasn't allowed to get groceries anymore since the apples looked mealy and he'd forgotten the flour and sugar.

Stuart just ignored her and slammed the door to his room. He'd get that writer – oh yes. Next time he saw him, he'd hit his face! With an iron or something!

~-~-~

Well yay there's another chapter done! I'm not all that pleased with the first half, but I kind of like the second half of the chapter. Hiro/Hugh's a hard character for me to keep IC, I don't know why. So is Yuki/Edward. The rest are pretty easy. Although Shuichi/Stuart is creeping up on me... Sakano/Mr. Saunders is the easiest! He has the most extreme personalities and those are always easy to keep in character.

Me be happy if you review, me would, yes. ^_^;


	5. Chapter 4

Ah! And here be another chapter! Some of you have been waiting for some shounen ai, well, there is some in this one! Near the end of the chapter though, and nothing below the waist, but it is something ^_^; I hope you like it. I'm worried about it. I've never written shounen ai before (yes, it's true! Could you tell? .;;;). I just read shounen ai like Yuki on a cigarette binge.

Thanks chibiukyou (wai, your reviews still make me smile, I always look for them after I post each chapter ^_^), Ruby, and Eike (I always forget that their names aren't Japanese so I keep checking to see if Sakano is Mr. Saunders or Mr. Savage ^_^;) for reviewing!

And Eike made me think about something... I wonder how I'm going to handle Shuichi's whole "Yuki Yuki Yuki!" thing. It would be impolite for him to run around screaming, "YOUNG!" all day long but it's too informal for him to call him Edward. Does anyone have any suggestions? Ah! And I still need a beta-reader! Contact me on Ymessenger at shampooscatcafe if you're interested .;

Cast:

Yuki Eiri - Edward Young - 22 - Accomplished Novelist

Shuichi Shindo - Stuart Shubrook - 19 - Aspiring Poet and Song Composer

Seguchi Tohma - Thomas Savage - 32 - Wealthy Publishing Company Owner

Sakano - Kenneth Saunders - 29 - Stuart's Agent

K - Claude K. Winchester - 36 - American Ex-Mafia gunman, works for Thomas as an Agent

Sakuma Ryuichi - Reece Swift - 31 - Accomplished Poet and Song Composer

Nakano Hiroshi - Hugh Norris - 19 - Aspiring Violinist

Uesugi Tatsuha - Timothy Ulysses - 16 - Schoolboy

Suguru Fujisaki - Frederick Sullivan - 16 - Schoolboy and Aspiring Conductor/Composer

Noriko Ukai - Natalie Udell - 28 - Accomplished Pianist

Ayaka Usami - Anna Udolf - 17 – Schoolgirl

Seguchi Mika – Marianne Savage – Thomas's wife

Rating: PG – PG-13

Disclaimer: I own Gravitation. That's right, I'm Maki Murakami! .... Come ON now people! . Really, some people are so gullible... I own the plot. I have some money but not enough to sue me for.

**__**

Roses

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Chapter 4

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

"I'm fine, I'm calm, I'm collected, I'm..." Mr. Saunders stopped his pacing and looked at the door leading out of the restaurant, "I'm going to faint."

It had been four days since the incident with his client and Mr. Young and just two days ago Mr. Savage requested a lunch with him at this restaurant. Something about discussing how they were going to keep the two from biting their heads off. Or was it about eating heads... he really wasn't sure, all he did the whole time was fantasize about feeding Mr. Savage finger sandwiches. Sure, it was kind of wrong for him to think about his boss like that, but he really didn't care. He'd stopped caring a long time ago.

However, right now he was having second thoughts. What if he actually tripped up and tried to **feed** Mr. Savage? That would be a disaster! He'd get fired and have to live out on the streets! He'd lose his clothes, his home, and his family would cut him off from them because he was homeless and liked men. Mr. Saunders groaned and rubbed his head quickly. No! He would stay focused today; he would listen to what Mr. Savage said and give sound advice about the matter.

"Ah, Mr. Saunders." He hoped.

"M-Mr. Savage!" The agent grabbed his handkerchief from his jacket's pocket and dabbed his forehead, "H-how nice to s-see you."

"I'm sorry I'm late, but you know how it is. A lot of work to do." Thomas smiled to him and walked to the server, told him the name, then went inside with Mr. Saunders to their table.

"Well, as you know, Edward and – ah, a glass of red wine please, thank you – Mr. Shubrook do not get along." He sat down in the seat, resting his elbows on the table.

"Y-yes." Mr. Saunders followed suit, but kept his hands firmly on his lap.

"And of course since they will be working together for the next month, they need to get along a little better." The dark haired man imagined little cherubs circling his employer's head.

"Y-yes." And the arrows shooting.

"I was thinking that we'd find some common interest they shared. Or... Mr. Saunders, are you listening to me?" And they all flew away.

The agent blinked and shook his head quickly. Damnit! He'd drifted off into his daydreams and hadn't heard a word Mr. Savage had said! That's exactly what he **didn't** want to do. The black haired man shook his head again, "I'm sorry, sorry."

Thomas quirked an eyebrow at him and shrugged, "Well, did you have any ideas?"

"A-ah. Well... does Mr. Young like music?"

"I don't think he minds it but he doesn't make an effort to go to concerts."

Mr. Saunders rose a hand to his head and tousled his hair, "I see... Maybe if we just make them see each other so much that they have to get used to one another?"

Thomas shook his head, "No, that wouldn't work with Edward. He'd probably just snap and try to kill the boy."

"O-oh," the agent squeaked. A dead client wasn't a very good thing to put on your résumé.

The publisher sighed and glanced up at the waiter, then ordered a sandwich, and took his glass of wine. Mr. Saunders took the water he hadn't realized he'd ordered, and then asked for the same as Mr. Savage. "I think I'll just bribe him. Maybe entice him with another week vacation..." Mr. Saunders nodded dumbly, "And perhaps Mr. Shubrook with the opportunity for a writing job with someone." He nodded again, seeing the angels come back again, then hearing 'holy' music. "I don't suppose that – " and they started dancing. "Of course, then if – " and shooting arrows at Mr. Saunders.

"But then if I – " and thus the angels floated over to Mr. Saunders, giggling. "I never had any luck with – " and they tugged at his shirt and tie, pulling him forward, "Mr. Saunders...?" and closer, "Mr. Saunders?" and even closer, "Mr. Saunders!"

The agent blinked, seeing him practically on top of the table and only about a foot away from Mr. Savage's head. He let out a little yelp and the angels scattered, "I'm very sorry!" he moved back and flushed, "I-I – "

"What was that about?"

"Ah! B-bad hearing! Yes, I-I couldn't hear you! Yes..." Mr. Saunders grabbed his handkerchief and dabbed his forehead.

"Then what was I talking about?"

"Ah... that is..."

The waiter returned, placing their orders in front of them, then left. Mr. Savage raised an eyebrow at his employee, but decided not to question him any further. After all, there was food waiting for him.

They didn't say anything else during the meal, and only spoke again after they'd left the building. "Thank for meeting me here, Mr. Saunders."

"A-ah, you're welcome..."

"I'm sure we'll figure out something with those two. And it's three days from now at Edward's residence again. Perhaps we'll try Mr. Shubrook's next time if the results are the same."

Mr. Saunders nodded and walked away from the building, chastising himself about his failure with will power. Mr. Savage just watched him leave and chuckled, shaking his head.

~-~-~

"Ah! Hugh, how nice to see you." Stuart's mother opened the front door to her house, greeting her son's best friend, "Come in, Stuart's in the parlor."

Hugh flashed one of his infamous smiles at her and stepped past her, "Thank you." He walked on down the front hall and ducked into the parlor. "Stuart,"

His friend glanced up from the floor and waved to him, "Ah, Hugh! There you are. I want you to read this," the boy straightened from his hunched position and produced a piece of paper, "It's a new poem I wrote."

"Ah, lets see it then." The brunette stepped over to the redhead and knelt down beside him, amongst the midst of papers, "I see you've been writing all morning.'

"Yes! I just felt like writing all of a sudden. I'll show that good-for-nothing so-called 'writer' who's garbage!" he shoved the paper in his hand in Hugh's face, "Read it!"

Hugh coughed and took the paper, looking over the words printed in scrawled handwriting, "I see..." Stuart inched towards him, studying the man's face.

"Well, well?" Hugh remained silent, however shifted his position to sitting and spread his legs out in the floor to make himself more comfortable. The redhead sighed and leaned back, drumming his hands on the rug beneath them. Hugh glanced up from the page and watched Stuart momentarily, then looked back down at the words.

"Hmm..."

"Yes, yes?"

"Well..."

"Yes, yes?" Stuart inched closer with each yes until he was just a few inches away from Hugh's face.

"You're improving." Hugh smiled as Stuart fell over, twitching. He placed the paper on the boy's head and tapped his shoulder, "Oh that's a good thing, really. I guess anger really does bring out the creative mind in some people. This poem looks angry."

"It is! I'm really mad!" Stuart sat up, letting the paper drift to the floor, "I'm so mad I could strangle that man! Do you know, I saw him at the market – again, Hugh, again! – two days ago and all he did was ignore me! I yelled at him and threw an onion at his head – the produce sellers are getting annoyed with me – and all he did was call me a brat and walk away!" Stuart balled his fists up; "He makes me so angry!"

"Well, you can't really expect him to be civil to you if all you do is throw objects at him."

"So? He started it!"

"Did **he** throw something at you?"

"Well..." Stuart looked down dejectedly, "No..."

"My point."

"But, but... you don't understand, I can't stand that he's like that to me!"

Hugh sighed and looked at Stuart sadly, "Why?"

"I-I don't know... I just can't."

Hugh moved closer to Stuart and placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, "I think that you're attracted to him."

"W-what!" Stuart moved back from Hugh, looking at him with wide, scared eyes, "How could I be attracted to him? And he's a man! Men don't like other men like that!"

"You can't help who you like, Stuart..." he sighed, lowering his head, "Believe me..."

"Hugh?"

The brunette shook his head and smiled, meeting Stuart's eyes again; "It's nothing. I know when you like someone Stuart, and you like him. Even if he is a man, and a conceited one at that, you still like him."

"I don't want to!"

Hugh sighed again and moved over to Stuart, placing both hands on his shoulders, "Stuart, I know that it's a hard concept to grasp in this day and age, but you really can't chose who you fall in love with."

"N-now it's love? I told you, Hugh, I hate him! Hate!"

"Stuart, don't lie to yourself. That just makes it worse." He picked up a few scattered papers and looked at them, "This is proof that it's more than hatred."

"But..."

"No buts! Admit it to yourself, Stuart, you'll feel better. And then maybe you could write about more than anger."

The poet paused, lowering his eyes from Hugh's penetrating gaze. In some way, the man was right. He was always right. Stuart didn't hate the writer. In fact, quite the opposite. But how could that be? They were both men, that was... that was impossible. And in any case, there was no way that the blonde would feel the same way... even if it would be wonderful. But that was too fanciful a dream to be true. Stuart turned his head again, moving back from Hugh, "Even if... even if... there's no way he'd feel the same way."

"How do you know?"

"But -!" Stuart looked up quickly; hope filled in his eyes.

"You never know until you try." Hugh smiled – weakly - but he smiled. Stuart nodded to him and stood, clenching his fists in determination.

"That's right! You never know until you try! You're right!" The redhead turned quickly and headed for the parlor door, then stopped and glanced back at Hugh, "That's absolutely right! Thank you!" and then, he was gone and running down the hall and out the door.

Hugh leaned back, propping himself up on his right arm. True, it had been somewhat suicide to edge his friend on. True, he'd never have a chance – even if he never had one to begin with – of having his feelings returned. But he wanted his friend's happiness. And if that meant him being with some annoying arrogant author then so be it. However... that didn't mean he would be happy about it.

Living in the residential area of the city had its perks. For one, you didn't have to walk far to get to someone's house. For another, you could remember where someone lived rather easily. Stuart had lived in this part of the city his whole life so he knew it extremely well. Mr. Saunders had told Stuart that Mr. Young had moved into his house only a year before and didn't come out very often. He used to live in France, or at least have a vacation house there that he stayed in for most of the year. It must be nice to have a vacation house, Stuart thought.

As he rounded the corner, he mused about what Hugh had told him. Sure, any sort of this relationship was taboo, but somehow he didn't care. He never really had been attracted to girls. And while his friend would talk about a few girls in high school, all Stuart did was work on his poems. His mother had introduced him to an attractive girl once, or at least Hugh said she was, but they wound up being friends and never anything more.

He wondered if perhaps the writer had thought about matters like these often. Of course, he was a writer, and writers tend to be eccentric, so there was a good chance that he was... like that. Wordlessly, Stuart hoped and prayed that he was that eccentric and that he wouldn't try to kill the poet when he heard. He probably wasn't that violent anyway.

He hoped he wasn't, at least.

Stuart rounded another corner, seeing a couple walking down the sidewalk on the other side, going in the opposite direction. 'Maybe that'll be me soon!' But perhaps not. No time to think about things like that now! No, not when he had reached Mr. Young's house and stood at the bottom of the stoop. And not when he was looking at the door intently as he made his way up the stairs. And certainly not when he rose the brass knock and then let it drop, listening to the quiet sound it made. Maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't hear! Yes, and then, Stuart could run home and pretend this had never happened. Then he would find himself a nice girl and pretend that he liked girls. Yes, that would be a good plan.

And he would have gone through with it if the door hadn't opened then and he stood facing a tall, blonde haired man.

He hated it when she did this. It didn't happen often, but it still happened. When his sister tried to get him to go back to his family's church in Paris. She tried anything to make him move back – bribe him, threaten him, anything just to make him leave this country. It never worked, never. His whole family knew this, they knew deep down that he wouldn't go back. But they persisted, they didn't really care. She didn't even live with them anymore and yet she tried to make Edward move back.

And she was especially annoying when he had a headache. "Edward, if you would just – "

"I'm telling you, Marianne, I'm not going. I don't care what you do, I'm staying. And you can stay here all day long yelling at me over this and waste perfectly good hours I could spend resting, or you can go home like a good girl and leave me alone."

"I'm not going."

"But if you could just – "

"No." He prayed for something, anything, to happen and make her leave. His ears strained and yes – he heard something! The sound of someone knocking. Sure, it was extremely quiet and he could be hallucinating, but it was worth a try. The writer practically ran from the parlor and to the door, swinging it open. Anyone, he didn't care who, but he silently thanked them for coming.

Except... this was the last person he would want to show up on his doorstep. Standing there panting, with ink stains on his fingers was a boy with red hair and intense angry violet eyes.

The very last person he wanted to see right now. And then, his sister showed up next to him and glared at the boy, "And who is this?" Edward sighed, seeing the shocked expression on his face. Now he'd have to deal with the brat's jealousy.

"Uh..."

Well at least he wouldn't talk much. If Edward didn't do something soon the kid would bolt out of there, leaving him with Marianne. Which, as much as he hated to admit it, was more annoying than this child at the moment. So, he stepped over to him and slung an arm around his shoulder, smirking at the shocked gasp coming from the boy. This would work out perfectly.

"And who is this?" A very attractive brunette stood next to Mr. Young, an annoyed look on her face. Of course... there was always an attractive woman standing in the way. Of course! He never caught a break.

"Uh..."

And then, something very, very odd happened. This man, this heavenly man that he had come to see stepped over to him and gripped him possessively. Was it, perhaps, did he feel the same way? Was Stuart just that lucky...?

"Ah, Stuart, there you are. I suppose it's time for our lesson. Right, Stuart?" the writer leaned in closer, resting his head on the redhead's shoulder. This had to be a dream, it couldn't be happening! And in public, too! "I'm afraid our little meeting will have to be cut short," he could hear the venom dripping in the writer's voice as he looked at the brunette. "Do anything and I kill you," well that harsh whisper was certainly directed at him. Stuart shivered.

"Is he that much more important than I am?"

"Of course,"

The woman made an airy sound and stormed off down the steps and away from the building. Mr. Young sighed and released his hold on Stuart, then walked over to his open door and stepped in.

"W-what did you do that for?"

"Don't tell me you weren't happy." The writer stopped in the doorframe.

Stuart's fists tightened and he stepped forward, "Her feelings were hurt!"

"Yes, they were. But," his icy glare fixated on Stuart, "That's what you wanted, isn't it?"

"W-what?" Edward shrugged and walked inside the house, carelessly pushing the door behind him. Stuart jumped and ran to him, slamming the door behind him, standing just a few inches inside the home. Sure, he was being rude, sure, he shouldn't have entered uninvited, but he was angry! And this man was being just as rude, if not more so.

"Don't think I'm stupid." Edward stopped at the foot of his staircase and looked at Stuart, "You're attracted to me."

"D-don't say such things like you think you know! You don't know anything!"

Edward shrugged, "That may be true. But I'm not blind. Anyone could see your feelings, the way you're so obsessive with me."

"I am not obsessive!"

"Of course you are."

Stuart ran forward, grabbing the blonde's shirt collar roughly. He gave the writer a shake and looked up at him. Edward looked off to the side, mumbling, "Who is this boy...?"

"Stop it! You keep saying things like this and think you know everything! Well you don't! You think you're so great and that you're better than anything else! You're not! You're the lowest, everything is better than you!"

"Are you saying you are too? Are you so arrogant as to say that to me?"

Stuart faltered and shook his head quickly, "Don't confuse me! It's you we're talking about here, not me! You're the arrogant one!"

Edward's expression remained cold as he pried Stuart's hands from his collar, showing that he was just toying with the boy, and turned him around, backing him up against the staircase. The redhead stumbled back, falling onto the steps with a start. Edward just knelt down in front of him, grabbing the fabric of his shirt, "You keep saying I'm arrogant when all you do is say how you're better than I am. Do you really think you're so much better, then?"

"Why do you keep acting like this? I say you're arrogant because you are! Why do you act that way? Why can't you be nice, why can't you see – "

"You ask me why now," he mummers, leaning in closer, "He did too. Why do you keep coming to me? Am I so enticing?" The blonde paused, a few inches from the redhead's face. He ignored the fact that the boy was now trembling, and the fact that he could feel his heart racing through the fabric. Edward closed his eyes, "Oh well..."

Stuart's eyes widened suddenly – he couldn't be doing this. But... the writer leaned in, closing the space between the two and pressing his lips to Stuart's. And... The boy's eyes stayed open, watching the man's face. Was this the way it was supposed to be? He saw no shooting stars and he heard no music, only the sound of the blood rushing to his head and the feel of his heart pounding out of his chest. It would do that soon, if Edward didn't stop... if he didn't stop doing that with his lips – the light pressure, only too light Stuart thought. 

His heart would... if he didn't stop that deeper pressure – yes, this was what he was waiting for. Yet he was too unsure of what to do, he felt a desire to return the kiss, to move forward, but this was too foreign to him. He'd kissed a girl, once, but it was light and he felt like she was his sister. This was different – there was no innocence to this. There was no virginity or secrecy, it was animalistic. And then he could feel another pressure on his lips. Stuart's eyes drifted down, seeing the writer's tongue dart out and lick the boy's pink lips.

And no matter how much his brain told him to do nothing, no matter how much his heart told him that it would explode, his body wouldn't listen. Instead, it made his mouth open and his tongue meet the other. If Stuart was thinking rationally he would have been disgusted by what he was doing but somehow... something about the way the older man's tongue felt against him, something about the sheer force of the two dancing and the lips meeting made him feel... alive.

As if that wasn't enough, he could feel a hand drift up to his neck, and then he could faintly hear the sound of a button popping, then another, and another. And then he noticed that his vest was gone, and his shirt was half-undone. But it wasn't cold – there was warmth there, like... Stuart opened his eyes – had they been closed...? When had that happened? He glanced down, seeing through the medley of their lips that there was a hand there – Edward's hand. And as much as he hated – no, he didn't hate it, he loved it. The feel of someone else's skin, this man's especially, was delicious. And his eyes slid closed again and he was vaguely aware of the sounds coming from Edward's throat. Wait, no... They were from his own.

And at the moment, he couldn't think of anything better than this feeling, than being here on the stairway of Edward's house. Then being here, beneath Edward, kissing him. That's right... he was kissing him...

He was almost sure, no, he was certain that there was no way this moment could be ruined. There was no one else around, no one to disturb them, and he certainly wasn't going to do anything to stop it. Of course, he had forgotten one thing.

One very, very crucial thing.

One very, very scared crucial thing that happened to be standing right next to the two men, eyes wide and mouth agape. And somehow neither of them noticed that she had been standing there ever since Stuart had entered the house.

And for some odd reason she chose now to scream. And this caused both of the men to immediately stop and turn their heads to see one very horrified, fainted maid.

Damn... and Edward had just hired a new one last month.

~-~-~-~

Ah, well, there's another chapter ^_^; This one was hard to get started on! All I knew was how it was going to end. I didn't know how to start it or anything. I'm surprised that I managed to get it all in one sitting. I know, I wasn't very original towards the end here but I don't care. I like how Murakami-sensei did that scene with them, I wouldn't change it. It's a bit more intense then the anime version was, but I think the manga version of that kiss scene was **much** more tantalizing. * giggles* tantalizing... hehee. 

Oh, and this was my first attempt at any sort of kiss scene or shounen ai thing... .; it makes me uncomfortable usually. Do you think it turned out ok? I'm worried about it x_x


	6. Chapter 5

I was so unbelievably... not pleased with this chapter that I didn't proof read the second half. So, I'm sorry if there are a bunch of mistakes! Ryuichi, I mean Reece, and K are introduced in this chapter, finally. It's hard not to make him say "Ne" or "Hai" or "Wai" because he does so much. And there aren't really any words that I find I like as much as those in English. Oh well.

There isn't any kissing in this chapter, I'm sorry! I might have some in the next one, but I didn't feel like the characters wanted to go making out this time. ^_^; Plus I had to force a lot of the writing so it's not as good as usual, and I think I only want to do kissing scenes when my writing is best.

Does anyone like KxHiro? I think I might have a couple hints of those at some point. I'm still playing with the idea.

Oh, and thanks to TalonSage (well of course she is! I mean who wouldn't be?), chibiukyou (too lazy to come up with a nice saying but I still appreciate your comments ^_^), panatlantic, Sarasi, ShadeAngel, and Babylon Boytoy for reviewing ^_^ Reviews really do keep me going, they're the main reason I try to get chapters out so frequently.

Cast:

Yuki Eiri - Edward Young - 22 - Accomplished Novelist

Shuichi Shindo - Stuart Shubrook - 19 - Aspiring Poet, Song Composer, and Actor/Musician

Seguchi Tohma - Thomas Savage - 32 - Wealthy Publishing Company Owner

Sakano - Kenneth Saunders - 29 - Stuart's Agent

K - Claude K. Winchester - 36 - American Ex-Mafia gunman, works for Thomas as an Agent

Sakuma Ryuichi - Reece Swift - 31 - Accomplished Poet, Song Composer, and Actor/Musician (I found out those were common back then)

Nakano Hiroshi - Hugh Norris - 19 - Aspiring Violinist

Uesugi Tatsuha - Timothy Ulysses - 16 - Schoolboy

Suguru Fujisaki - Frederick Sullivan - 16 - Schoolboy and Aspiring Conductor/Composer

Noriko Ukai - Natalie Udell - 28 - Accomplished Pianist

Ayaka Usami - Anna Udolf - 17 – Schoolgirl

Seguchi Mika – Marianne Savage – Thomas's wife

Disclaimer: I _do_not_ own Gravitation! Sheesh...

//...// indicates flashback.

**__**

Roses

~-~-~-~-~-~-~

__

Chapter 5

~-~-~-~-~-~-~

"And now he needs a new maid..." The poet leaned back on the park bench, resting his hands behind his head. Just one day before, Stuart had visited Edward. And yelled at him. And then, Edward kissed him. Which probably would have lasted a lot longer than a couple minutes if the man's stupid maid hadn't fainted on them. After that...

"Well, at least he returns the feeling." Hugh glanced at his best friend, a faraway look in his eyes. He was sort of listening to the boy – sort of. Actually... all he could think about was how happy Stuart was and how miserable he felt. Helping a friend wasn't supposed to feel this bad, was it?

"I know, but," Stuart whined, rocking back and forth in the green bench. After the maid had fainted, Edward had woken her up by dumping water all over her. He said there was no reason for them to call a doctor since he didn't want to pay for any expenses. Plus, he claimed the water would work.

It didn't.

"But what? Are you disappointed?" Just a tiny hint, faint glimmer of hope in that statement. Just, perhaps, just maybe Stuart didn't like the man after that. But that was impossible, the way he talked about him all afternoon.

"No!" See? "I'm really happy, honestly! But I feel sorry for the maid, I mean..." he glanced around, then leaned in and whispered in Hugh's ear, "How often do you see two men kissing on a staircase?" Apparently the maid had never seen it before, since Edward had to get smelling salts to wake her up. Poor girl, not only had she seen a huge shock, but she'd fainted, gotten water splashed on her head, probably lost her job, and then she had to have smelling salts shoved up her nose.

Hugh smiled and shook his head; "I don't think many people see that in their entire lifetimes. Still," he glanced at his friend, a devious look crossing his face, "I'm sure she got quite a show."

"Hugh!" Well, he was right. Although, the fact that Edward had literally shoved the salts up her nose probably wasn't a very good after thought. But hey, it woke her up. Of course, she started screaming as soon as she saw Stuart, but at least she was alive.

"I'm just saying." The brunette shrugged and draped his arms across the back of the bench. He was happy. He had to tell himself that. Even if the idiot was going on about the maid and her psychological standpoint, he was happy. And that had to account for something... right?

"Well, anyway. I'm going to see him tomorrow!" Again with the singsong voice. And there was no maid tomorrow! Nope, after she woke up she ran into her room and gathered all of her things, screamed at Edward that she quit, and stormed out of the house. Stuart was worried that she would tell newspapers about Edward, but he said Thomas would take care of it and left it at that.

"I see..."

"And, and, I promised him that I wouldn't throw things at him! He kind of made me promise, though..." rather forcibly, too, with lots of shirt grabbing and... Stuart flushed suddenly, "Ah, and I'm going to write a really good poem, too! Although I don't think that he would like it in any case... Do you think he would, Hugh?" The redhead turned to face the brunette and grabbed hold of the other man's arm.

Hugh sighed, seeing the boy's face burn, and shook his head, "I don't know. I haven't met him, but from what you say..." Hugh turned his gaze to the poet, his eyes searing, "No, he probably won't."

"You're so cruel!" Stuart jumped up and away from the bench, balling up his fists and biting his lower lip. To onlookers he looked much younger than 19 – probably around 6 instead. A few older women looked at him, then at Hugh who they guessed was his father, and glared rather angrily. Hugh coughed and stood up, walking over to Stuart.

"Now, now... What matters is you'll see him and he probably won't be so mean."

Stuart sighed and resumed his regular posture, "I suppose, but..."

"It would mean something if he complimented you?" Stuart nodded. The musician sighed and raked a hand through his long hair, "Well, maybe he will, eventually."

"Really?"

Hugh smiled, wiping Stuart's moist eyes, "Really."

"Alright!" Stuart jumped away from his friend and bounded off down the path, "Bye, Hugh!"

His friend blinked, seeing the smoke cloud trail behind him. Now... why had he left so quickly? The brunette sighed and shook his head, turning around. No one could know what went through that boy's head. Stuart himself probably wasn't exactly sure half the time.

~-~-~

Two years, two long, boring years. That's how long it had been since Thomas last saw his colleague. And now, as the boat docked and people hurried off, he wondered if his friend was the same. Had he changed any in the years he'd been in America? Had those Americans made his normally happy and hyper friend into someone cold and stoic?

Oh he hoped not. But as he stretched his neck, trying to see above the crowd of people, he couldn't help but think it was odd that the man hadn't come running out of the ship and clung to Thomas's arm. Maybe he was tired? The two weren't hard to spot in a crowd, though. That's right, there were two of them. He and Thomas's agent. That agent... he hadn't seen him in at least three years. At some point Thomas had hired him to manage writers that also wanted to write things for musicians. Thomas thought it might be nice to be a pioneer in singing and songwriting as a career.

Immediately the man took over managing Thomas's friend. Thomas didn't really mind, managing Edward was a full time job, but he did miss being around his colleague so much. Where were they anyway? He'd been standing here for five minutes and the bulk of the people had disembarked already. Then, he saw a tall, blonde man dressed in a casual suit. And, Thomas noticed as he looked down, there was a shorter brunette walking in front of him.

He didn't bound forward to greet Thomas, he wasn't bouncing along the path, and he wasn't singing children's rhymes. No, instead, he stood a few feet from Thomas, right behind the blonde man, and watched the publisher with a blank look in his eyes. Then, it happened. Thomas couldn't breath as his friend's arms cut off the air circulation to his lungs.

"Ah, R-Reece, calm down please!"

"It's been so long, Thomas! I'm so happy to be back, hey where's Natalie and Marianne and doesn't it look like it's going to rain and it's a lot colder here and K and I are really really glad to be here although K isn't so glad 'cause I think he misses being home but I sure like it and – "

The aforementioned K walked up to Reece, raised a hand, and brought it down on the hyper man's head. Thomas smiled as the brunette loosened his hold and took a step back, rubbing his head, "Ah, thank you Mr. K."

The blonde smiled and nodded to Thomas, "No problem!"

It was weird, really. K was born and raised in America, lived his whole life in New York City, spent many years involved in the mafia, and yet still he had a British accent. Which really was rather odd since the most time the man had ever spent in Britain were a couple months working with Thomas before picking up Reece and hightailing it back to America.

"It's nice to see you too, Reece. I suspect you're both rather tired from your journey?"

"Not really! I ran around the room for awhile because it's really boring in there and K gave me a piece of paper and some charcoal and I drew all over it and – " Reece rose his hands, showing they were covered in the black residue from charcoal. "I got it all over K's shirt." He pointed to the black fingerprints on the blonde man's blouse, "And your vest!" then he pointed to the black handprint on his friend's vest.

Thomas sighed and brushed the charcoal as best he could, but figured that he'd just have to wait for his maid to get it out later. "Mr. K – "

"I'm not giving him anymore charcoal."

"Thank you."

Reece, oblivious to this sudden exchange of words, ran off past Thomas, "Hey, Thomas, I want to go to your house! Has it changed? I bet mine is still the same – you didn't sell it did you? I love my house, I don't want to sell it!" The two blonde men sighed and followed the hyperactive composer out of the dock and to the carriage Thomas had waiting for them. "And then I want to go to the market and get some candy and, oh they have really good candy in America! Do they have those – ooo a horsie!"

Thomas wasn't too sure whether Reece liked carriages or not. For the first few minutes of the ride he'd gone on about how pretty the horse was. For the remaining twenty minutes he wouldn't shut up about how there were cars in America and how he'd ridden in one a few times and it was really fun to travel in but that they broke a lot but he wished he was riding one instead of being in a slow carriage. K hit Reece a lot during those remaining twenty minutes.

Eventually they reached Thomas's residence and he invited K and Reece to stay for dinner. Reece complied, even though K said that he would have rather gone to a dinner theatre. Reece then sat for thirty minutes telling Thomas and his wife and maids and butler how he'd performed in a dinner theatre once – he'd gotten the lead since it was a musical – and that a lot of critics said it was really good and a lot of people came. Then he said that the food was 'real rank' and didn't want to perform anymore there because of that. K said that he performed in a lot of nightclubs. Thomas then pulled K aside and asked why he wasn't making Reece perform in more venues in musicals. To which K replied that those weren't 'as popular.'

"Reece, it was nice to have you over." Marianne smiled to the brunette; "You should come again some time."

"I will! I'm staying here for awhile 'cause K says I need to work over here but I don't want to work anymore. Can I come tomorrow, can I?"

"I don't think so, Reece." Thomas patted the man's head and ushered him out with K, "Maybe... next week. Goodbye!" he shoved the two men out the door and turned to his wife, "Well, that was... interesting."

"If I hear that song of his one more time I'm – "

"Me too, me too."

"Oh, Thomas? Where was his stuffed rabbit? Doesn't he carry that thing around a lot?" Thomas looked at his wife and shrugged, taking her into their front parlor.

"I told K to pack it in Reece's suitcase. We'll probably see it next time."

"Now, I heard all from Mr. Savage about what happened when you visited this man last time."

Stuart blanched and looked at his mother, "H-how?"

"He rang me."

"Stupid telephone..."

"And Hugh told me a little about it too. He wasn't too happy about it, though."

//_"Miss Shubrook, I really don't think that I should be telling you about – "_

"I don't care! I demand you tell me what he did, he won't tell me anything! He never does, he neglects his poor mother!"

"Um..."//

"Mother..."

"Now don't you go throwing things about him this time! He's doing you a big favor!"

Stuart sighed and nodded, bowing his head and leaving the kitchen. It was a good thing that his mother had no idea what he did two days before. The redhead snickered and grabbed his book bag by the door and hurried out. She didn't have to know everything that happened in his life, and he wasn't too sure that she'd be happy to learn that her only son liked men.

The poet hurried down the steps and down the street on the way to the writer's house. Mr. Saunders was supposed to meet him there, although he wasn't too sure how the agent was going to make it there in one piece. He supposed that his lethargic angel would decide to help him for once.

And it looked like it was doing its job as he rounded the corner and saw Mr. Saunders running towards him in his little whirlwind, screaming something about him being late. He wasn't late, he was early! Stuart reached into his vest pocket and pulled out his pocket watch and – wait... it said that time ten minutes ago. The boy sweated and looked at his agent, "Mr. Saunders!"

"Mr. Savage and Mr. Young have been sitting for over ten minutes waiting for you to show up and they sent me out! You're going to get me fired! What will Mr. Savage think?" Mr. Saunders answered Stuart before the boy had a chance, "I'll tell you what he'll think!" The poor man bit into his handkerchief and cried, "He'll think that his agent is a failure and can't even keep his clients in line, that's what!"

Stuart coughed and looked around, thankful that no one was on this street at the moment, and led his frantic agent down the sidewalk to the writer's house, "It'll be ok, Mr. Saunders. I'll just explain that my watch broke."

"He'll think that my clients can't even keep watches working! I'm a failure!" Mr. Saunders fell over, collapsed in a little heap. Luckily he collapsed right in front of Edward's house so the redhead didn't have to carry him several blocks. A light blonde man appeared at the top of the stoop, smiling like a snake.

"Ah, there you are Mr. Shubrook. I was beginning to wonder what happened to you. I see Mr. Saunders found you." He nodded to the agent and stood aside as the boy dragged his mentor up the steps and into the house. Thomas would never lift a hand to help him of course; he might break a nail.

"Ah, I suppose you could say that..."

"It's about time you showed up." A cold, edgy voice mumbled, coming from the direction of the front room. That was the study, wasn't it? Stuart nodded to himself and turned to see Edward leaning against the doorframe. "You shouldn't have bothered."

"Young!" A red blur sailed through the air, landing on the blonde writer and clinging to him. This, of course, caused the man to utter loud obscenities and proceed to kick, punch, slap, and do anything that his mind came up with to get the teenager off him. Roused by the commotion, Mr. Saunders pushed himself up from the floor and brushed the imaginary dirt off his clothing. Then, he glanced up and saw his client, and then his client's tutor. And then he noticed his client attached to the man. And at this, his arms went up and he fainted again.

Meanwhile, Thomas was looking at this, an eyebrow raised and a small frown on his face. He glanced at the fainted agent, then casually stepped away from him and continued to watch the spectacle before him. "I see that you get along now..." Then Edward finally managed to get the boy off him by elbowing him in the head and making the hyperactive boy sink to the ground. "Well, Mr. Shubrook at least."

Stuart twitched as Edward walked past him and into the study, followed by Thomas dragging a motionless Mr. Saunders along behind him. The redhead quickly shook his head and jumped up, running into the room. Edward was stationed by the fireplace with Thomas next to him, and Mr. Saunders conveniently draped on the ottoman. In one swift move, Stuart was standing near Edward and Thomas, not feeling comfortable enough to cling to Edward again lest he get a concussion.

"What happened, Edward?" At some point Thomas had found a martini and was holding it provocatively in his slender fingers. Stuart found this extremely odd because there were no alcohol bottles in this room – that he could see. "Marianne told me that he showed up here a couple days ago. And where is your maid?"

The writer leaned against the mantle and looked down at the hearth, studying the bricks. Neither one of the men seemed aware that Stuart was standing near them, or that he or anyone else was in the room with them. "She quit."

"Another one? What did you do to this one?"

Edward pushed himself away from the fireplace and walked past Stuart, "I didn't do anything to her."

"Why did she up and quit like that, then? It's not like you pay her poorly."

"Uh..." Stuart's quiet voice entered the conversation. However, the men still didn't notice him.

"Edward?" The writer remained silent for a few seconds, then turned and looked at his publisher.

"I played with him a bit, she saw, and left."

"H-hey, 'played with me'?!"

"What are you thinking, Edward?" Thomas's eyes flashed and he walked up to the man; "Do you know how much trouble that can get you into?"

"Just pay her off and it'll be fine."

"What if someone else finds out? And you can't go around with your students! I didn't arrange this teaching for you to sleep with people without having to go looking for them on your own."

"H-hey!"

"You don't control me, Thomas. And I'm not going to hurt your company's reputation, so don't get so bratty."

"Hey!" The blondes turned, seeing Stuart standing next to them, face burning and fists clenched, "Stop it already! What do you mean, played with me?!"

At some point during this whole tirade, Mr. Saunders awoke. And then, he saw what everyone was doing, then figured out what they were talking about, then realized that Thomas was angry. At which point he got angry. Of course... then he realized that chances were Thomas would relay this anger to him. Thus, he fainted again.

Edward looked at Stuart wordlessly, then turned to Thomas. "Just go pay her off and I'll kept silent. Pay him off if you want to," he nodded to Stuart. Thomas frowned for a second, then resumed his regular smiling appearance.

"All right then, Edward. I think Mr. Saunders and I can sit this one out, since you two don't seem to want to kill each other. Mr. Shubrook?" he turned and looked at the redhead, "I assume that you have your papers."

"A-ah... yes..."

"Well, I think I'll be leaving then." He walked past the two and over to Mr. Saunders, placing his glass on a table, then grabbed the man's arm and propped him up, slapping his face a bit. The agent halfway woke and leaned against Thomas, not aware of who it was. "Next time I'll send Mr. Saunders to make sure that you two meet." He glanced at the man then sweated as he started mumbling and hugging him. Thomas smiled and coughed, dragging the delirious agent out of the room.

"Mr. Savage... M-MR. SAVAGE!" were the sounds resonating the house as the two men left. Edward sighed and placed a hand to his forehead.

"I suppose I have to deal with your 'poetry' now, don't I?"

Stuart took a step forward and grabbed hold of the blonde's arm, "What was all that about? What did he mean by all that... what, what did you – "

"Shut up." Edward walked past him and to the ottoman in the room. Wordlessly, he sat on the tired leather and looked out of the door of the study. Stuart ran after him, standing in front and blocking his vision.

"What's going to happen, now?"

"Nothing is going to happen. You'll read your garbage, I'll tell you it's garbage, we do this for a month and then I never have to see you again."

"B-but, we, you kissed me."

"It made you shut up, didn't it?" Edward glanced up at him, glaring; "Obviously it didn't work very well since you're talking too much."

"But you can't kiss... like... that... and then say that it didn't mean anything!"

"It didn't mean anything."

Stuart fell over, twitching on the floor. The writer stood, stepping over him, and walked to his desk, "Get your papers and lets get this over with." The redhead pushed himself up and ran after the man, crashing into his back and wrapping his arms around his waist.

"I annoy you! I know you hate me and you probably are sick of seeing me, but I don't care! I'm going to keep coming and bugging you until you admit you like me! And that kiss did mean something, it did to me..." The boy buried his face in the other man's back and tightened his grip on him. The writer picked up a cigarette from his desk, lit it, and placed it in his mouth.

"I don't hate you." So quiet... Stuart wasn't sure if he heard right or if his ears were playing tricks on him. But when Edward stood there silently, head bowed, smoking, he knew that even if he hadn't said that that it was true. He didn't hate him – maybe he didn't feel the same that Stuart did, but at least the writer didn't hate him. And that was something – he could work with that.

~-~

I'm not all that pleased with how I ended this but it was begging to be ended (ok well I was begging for it to end) so I had to stop there. I could have gone further and had them kiss but that would have been too out of character. And I really apologize that I wasn't too good this time T_T I'll try to be better next chapter, I'll actually take a break (expect the next chapter on the weekend or sometime next week) and maybe write an outline.


	7. Chapter 6

Wee! What fun desu. I spent two hours yesterday and two hours today writing this chapter and didn't let myself play video games or draw or write anything else less I forget to do this! I think I'll be getting out a chapter each week since school has started and a lot of my energy goes to that. I know, it would be ideal for me to get out two to three chapters each week but it's amazing for me to get out one!

I keep remembering important Gravi events as I write this but I'm always late in remembering! So, for the most part it's self-contained. I'll keep a few things when I can't think up anything but Mika, I mean Marianne, really won't have **any** part in this other than being Thomas's wife and trying to get Edward to go home. Meaning no briberies! I also added ASK to the list of characters. I wasn't going to have them in this story but everything drifted that way.

I actually know how I'm going to end it! Ahh I made progress plot-wise in my little break. It won't end for a long time, though! I write long stories – I'm seeing anywhere from 20 to 40 chapters. (I bet you're all screaming in terror now! I know I am.) It depends on how long the characters want to go for.

Thank you chibiukyou (erm... mansex? *coughs * I don't know about that...), ShadeAngel, ChibiFaery (etcetc too long of a name), Quarry, Sana_Chan (I know! It felt odd to me too when I wrote it, I hated it! I sort of fixed it.), and Eike for reviewing! Yay positive reviews ^_^

Cast:

Yuki Eiri - Edward Young - 22 - Accomplished Novelist

Shuichi Shindo - Stuart Shubrook - 19 - Aspiring Poet, Song Composer, and Actor/Musician

Seguchi Tohma - Thomas Savage - 32 - Wealthy Publishing Company Owner

Sakano - Kenneth Saunders - 29 - Stuart's Agent

K - Claude K. Winchester - 36 - American Ex-Mafia gunman, works for Thomas as an Agent

Sakuma Ryuichi - Reece Swift - 31 - Accomplished Poet, Song Composer, and Actor/Musician (I found out those were common back then)

Nakano Hiroshi - Hugh Norris - 19 - Aspiring Violinist

Uesugi Tatsuha - Timothy Ulysses - 16 - Schoolboy

Suguru Fujisaki - Frederick Sullivan - 16 - Schoolboy and Aspiring Conductor/Composer

Noriko Ukai - Natalie Udell - 28 - Accomplished Pianist

Ayaka Usami - Anna Udolf - 17 – Schoolgirl

Seguchi Mika – Marianne Savage – Thomas's wife

Taki Aizawa - Terry Anderson - 22 - Popular new Actor/Musician

Ken-chan - Keith Bailey - 23 - Popular new Actor/Musician (usually in performs in plays written/starring Terry)

Ma-kun - Malcolm Clarke - 23 - Popular new Actor/Musician (usually in performs in plays written/starring Terry)

Disclaimer: Standard. I only own 'Smith' and Natalie's followers and the story plot.

**__**

Roses

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__

Chapter 6

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One week, that's how long it had been since Edward kissed Stuart. And the man was seriously regretting it. Not only did the boy hang off his arm whenever he saw him, but he made it his life goal to see him every, single, day. Occasionally the writer did enjoy the boy's company – occasionally. No matter how nice he seemed to be, he was very annoying. By the way the brat prattled on about his friend Hugh he was certain that man was sick of the redhead sometimes as well.

Today was a good day, though. He knew it when he woke up. The sun shone, light beams falling about the rooms, coming in through the gaps in the curtains. The bread he had gotten from the market a day before wasn't stale and the newspapers didn't have anything bad in them. Yes, it was a very good day. And good days were always the best days he could write. 

So, the blonde retreated into his study and sat at his desk, pulling out pieces of paper and his ink well. He didn't exactly have any ideas for another story, but if he just jotted down things he'd be fine. Critics were still going on about how wonderful his new one was so he was certain that there was no rush to get out another story.

Of course, he knew the moment that he dipped the pen nib in ink there would be a knock at the door, and the moment the ink touched the paper that there would be a redheaded ball of energy clinging to his arm. And he also knew that just a second later he'd shove the redhead off, spill ink all over his clothes, and have to go change. Yes, after a week he'd already gotten used to this routine.

Except... When his pen dipped, the house was silent. And then when the sharp tip scratched along the rigged paper his arm was free from constrictions. And when he looked down he saw there was no large ink puddle in his lap. The silence in the house alone was enough to alarm the author. Of course, being the cold bastard he was he never showed he was disturbed. He simply placed the pen down, stood, and walked to his door.

And noted that there was no one out there other than the regular pedestrians. No ball of red with large dots of violet, no screeching youthful voice, and nothing clinging to his arm. With a shrug, the man turned and went back to his study. It must just be too early for him. Or something...

~-~

"Uh, Mr. Saunders...?" In actuality, the redhead had no intention of being at Edward's house that day. In fact, he was due to some sort of appointment or rehearsal of some sort that his agent set up for him. Something about Mr. Savage wanting his clients to expand and then something about wanting to impress the devious publisher. He didn't really catch anything the agent said; it's not like he ever listened to him.

"Not now, Stuart! I'm busy!" The agent waved off the younger man and turned back to face whoever he was talking to. After the last meeting with Mr. Young, Mr. Savage had told the frenetic man that he wanted Stuart to be one of his 'test subjects' in music. Since the publisher himself was more of a music guru than a writing one, he wanted to have some talented musicians. And since Stuart seemed to be better at singing than he was in writing, he wanted the boy to perform in a musical.

Perform in a very big musical with a very, very, small solo. Mr. Saunders had begged his superior to start the boy out in dinner theatre but the publisher told him all the arrangements had been made. 

"Alright..." Stuart sighed and turned, propping himself up against a wall. He'd never been in a musical before, really. He had worked backstage in one – a long time ago, but that didn't mean anything. He hadn't **performed** in one before. And here Mr. Saunders was telling him he was going to _sing_. The man he was talking to seemed a bit familiar, not by much, but Stuart was certain he'd seen his face somewhere on a poster before. And he heard Mr. Saunders call the man 'Mr. Anderson' a couple times. Anderson... where had he heard that name before...

"Terry!" A young voice called out behind Stuart, then a blonde rushed past him to his agent and Anderson. In some fourth-wall, odd thought, Stuart wondered where all these blondes were coming from lately, but quickly dismissed the thought.

"Malcolm!" The two men hugged, then Anderson gestured to Stuart's agent, "This is Kenneth Saunders. He's the manager of that kid," he nodded to Stuart, "over there. Mr. Savage supposedly pulled some strings and got him in. He's filling in for Smith, you know, the guy who broke his leg."

"Who is he?" Malcolm looked at the redhead. Anderson shrugged and watched Stuart, 

"No clue. Some new comer."

"Ha, good luck to him then! He's going to need it. Well, we need to practice that scene." The two men nodded to Mr. Saunders and hurried off. Sighing, the agent walked over to Stuart and dabbed his forehead with his ever-prominent handkerchief.

"I don't know what Mr. Savage is thinking, getting you in this. I don't know how I'm going to cope with all of this! First it's Mr. Young, now it's Mr. Anderson! He's a real popular act now, and that man, Malcolm Clarke, is really big too! And you, in there with the lot of them! I'm going to go crazy!" He bit the linen, pacing in circles. Stuart sighed and patted the frantic agent on the back.

"It's alright, Mr. Saunders, I'll be ok."

"What about _me_?"

The poet sighed again and shook his head, "Should I be practicing?"

"Practicing! You don't even know the lines and they're having the first performance next week! What am I going to do!" With that, the agent rushed off to who-knows-where in a fury of screams. Stuart hesitantly followed after him, excusing him and apologizing whenever the agent knocked someone over.

"Stuart?" A soft, masculine voice stopped the redhead, causing him to turn around and forget about his insane mentor. Standing before him with a brown hair tied back in a ponytail, a violin in one hand, and a string in another, was Hugh.

"Hugh!" Stuart bound towards him, clinging to the other man's waist. Quickly, the brunette put his violin down on a seat and patted his friend's back.

"What are you doing here?"

"I should ask you the same thing! I've got a solo part that Mr. Savage set up for me!" The redhead pouted, "Some poor guy broke his legs and can't play it anymore... I wonder how that happened..."

"Oh, Smith. That was very unfortunate, no one knew how that ladder could have fallen when it was bolted to the ground..." Hugh shook his head and pushed the boy away, "Any way, it's nice to see you here!"

"Is this the gig you got? Third string?"

Hugh nodded slowly, leaning against the stage, "Yes, apparently the group does music for some performances. How odd that you're here."

"Well, I'm really glad you're in the music! I didn't want to be stuck in this thing and not know anyone!" Stuart stepped over to the brunette's side and whispered into his ear, "Have you met that Anderson fellow? He's so weird! Is he always like that?"

Hugh chuckled, "Yes, he is, from what I've seen."

"Who's that Malcolm person that was with him?"

The musician took a step forward and picked up his instrument, then held it carefully by his side, "Those two are in all their musicals together. There's another guy in the troupe – Keith Bailey. They're all really odd. Kind of full of themselves."

Stuart smiled, "Those two seemed like it! Where's the other one?" Hugh shrugged and looked up, hearing someone call for him. A young woman with very dark purple-hued hair was standing across the theatre, looking at Hugh with her hands on her hips.

"Ah, sorry, Stuart, duty calls."

"W-wait, is that – it can't be!" Stuart blanched, looking at the shapely woman.

"Natalie Udell, you mean?"

"Is it really! I thought she was retired and only did really big shows!"

"I overheard that she owed Mr. Savage a favor..."

"Got his fingers in all the bowls..."

"Well," Hugh smiled and gave his friend a light hug; "I better go before I get in trouble. Break a leg," the brunette waved and ran off to meet the woman who now was surrounded with adoring fans – er – some of the other orchestra members. Stuart sighed and turned around, disappearing into the nearby wing to practice his solo.

"What took you so long, Mr. Norris?" The pianist quirked an eyebrow at the orchestra member.

"Ah, I was just talking to my friend."

"Is he Mr. Smith's replacement?" Hugh nodded and followed her and her horde of followers – er – the other gathered orchestra members to the side of the stage to practice.

"Yes." Natalie glanced at the young man before seating herself at the grand piano. No wonder Thomas had been so enthused - well, as enthused as he could get - about that boy when he'd mentioned him. It almost seemed worth it to lose the previous cast member. Something about the redhead reminded her of the exuberant singer who'd written music for her.

"I see. What's his name again?"

"Stuart Shubrook."

"Shubrook..." The blackish purplish haired woman rolled the word off her tongue and stretched her fingers out. "Interesting. Are you two friends?"

"Yes."

"I see... how odd that both of you wound up working in the same musical." Hugh shrugged and hoisted the violin onto his shoulder and tucked it under his chin. Natalie smiled, resting her long fingers on the smooth ivory keys. The conductor moved over to his stand and tapped his baton, signaling the rest of the orchestra to concentrate on him and the music, not the woman at the piano.

Hugh chuckled and rose the bow to his violin, connecting the strings, and practiced along with the rest of the orchestra. Faintly, Stuart's voice sang out from the wings, along with the song. Apparently he'd gotten a hold of all the music.

~-~

Today was going to be a good day. It had to be a good day; the other previous ones were good. Sort of. Almost. Not really. The sun had been beautiful, there was no bad weather, and the newspaper headlines were all pleasant. Not to mention the many good ideas he'd come up with for his next novel. Only, there was one thing missing.

The writer unfolded the newspaper and saw a rather sad headline – someone had been murdered. No one that important, but it was still there. And then lightning flashed and rain poured down in torrents around the house. He also found that when he went to sit down to write he had absolutely no ideas, and that he thought all the previous scribbles were pure crap.

Alright, so today wouldn't be such a good day. Not a big deal, he'd had worse days. The light flickered in the room. The electricity he had was rather unpredictable – even the slightest bit of rain and the lights would go out. He sighed and rest his chin on the propped up hands. Well, there was one thing good out of those – Stuart wouldn't be over today. Why would he go out in the rain to be harassed about his poor poetry?

Edward really didn't understand that boy. How could he come back day after day only to be told how awful he was and how little talent he had? Well... he hadn't been by the previous days. Vaguely the writer recalled Thomas telling him about some musical Stuart was supposed to be in. Good for him, maybe now he'd give up on writing and give the poor man's head a rest.

But did he really have to practice every day? It's not like he was the lead. Or was he? Edward took a cigarette and a match and lit the tobacco. He shook the flame out of the match and tossed it into the trashcan. The only light in the room now came from the cinders on his cigarette. When had the lights gone out...?

That stupid tree of his was rapping on the windows. He really needed to cut that thing down before it fell on the house one night and crushed him in his sleep. Edward chuckled – Thomas would love that headline. "Famous Romance Novelist Killed in His Sleep by Runaway Tree." That would just make his day. Maybe he'd keep the tree after all.

However, as the wind died down the tree was still rapping – and a bit louder, too. And coming from his front door. Strange... the tree had always been at the side of his house, not in front of his door. Edward shrugged and stood, walking out of the study and to the front hall. Maybe it sprouted legs and walked over there. Damn, that meant it probably wouldn't be crushing him in his sleep anymore. Edward grinned. That was genius, he'd have to kill of his next heroine that way.

But strangely the tree also had a face now, the writer mused as he looked out the small window in his door. Since when was his tree a short redhead boy with – wait.

"Figures..." He sighed and pulled the door open, letting the dripping boy into the house. He pointed to the kitchen to signal Stuart to go in there and drip all over the place, but obviously he wasn't paying attention since he just shook his hair like a dog. Edward sighed and pulled the distinguished cigarette out of his mouth. "I don't think I needed a bath..."

Stuart smiled and jumped the man, wrapping his arms tightly around the writer's waist. "Young! I'm sorry! I wasn't here yesterday or the day before and I almost wasn't here today, but I wanted to see you so I went out but it started to rain really hard and I'm wet and really cold and it's nice and warm here and you're warm but you're kind of wet now...and why aren't you saying anything?" Stuart blinked and took a step back, looking at the author.

There was a rather large wet body print on his now soaked clothes. Edward sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "You should have stayed home."

"But... I wanted to see you! And, and, I'm supposed to be here anyway! Where's Mr. Savage? And Mr. Saunders?"

"Thomas said he wasn't coming and I doubt your agent will either because of that." The blonde turned and started up his stairs, followed closely by Stuart.

"Oh... so it's just you and me? Cool! But I'm really cold... and how come it's so dark in here? Is the electricity out? That happens at my house a lot, too, when it rains, everything gets dark and – " he was silenced when some sort of fabric was throne in his face. Edward was already changing into different clothes in his room and apparently took pity on the redhead by giving him spare.

This, of course, made Stuart collapse into a little puddle of mush since the writer was actually _sharing_ his clothes with him. "Thank you!" All he got was a grunt in response but he didn't honestly care. The young man ran into the bathroom and quickly changed.

When he emerged he was somewhat drier and in clothes far too big for him. But that was to be expected since they _were_ Edward's clothes after all. The redhead ran to Edward's room poked his head inside, saw no there, and then ran down the stairs.

The boy glanced into the study, figuring that the writer would be sitting at his desk, grumbling about something. He tip-toed into the room, figuring that he could give him a sneak attack since it was so dark, and pounced the chair behind the desk.

The empty chair behind the desk. Stuart blinked and stood, rubbing his sore chest, "Young...?" Lightning flashed quickly, illuminating the room and revealing that the only person there was Stuart. The redhead blinked again, a bit taken aback, and made his way out of the room. And since this was the middle of a thunderstorm, and thunderstorms had thunder, the aforementioned act of nature boomed and shook the house in all its thunder-ness.

And since Stuart was a girlish boy wandering around a dark, seemingly empty, strange house during the middle of a thunderstorm, he jumped when he heard the sound. Stuart rushed out of the room and into the hall. There was a flickering light coming from the parlor door and the sound of crackling wood. Stuart grinned, inching into the room. There was Edward – sitting in the couch in front of the fireplace. The redhead snickered and tiptoed towards him, intent on pouncing and scaring the writer shitless. He _hoped_ he could do that. He really had yet to succeed in getting the writer to flinch in anything other than annoyance.

Strangely, as the boy approached the older man, there was no change in the writer's posture. Usually he sensed the pounce and would smack Stuart before he got took close. But when Stuart was just a couple inches from him he didn't do anything, and when the boy had his arms firmly around his neck and was nuzzling his face like a cat, he didn't flinch. He just... sat there, staring at the fire.

Obviously there was something wrong with Edward. And an Edward in a bad mood was not one to be picked on. Stuart sighed and rounded the couch, sitting a cushion away from the writer. The two sat there in silence, listening to the falling rain and watching the embers dance from the fire.

"Thank you for the clothes..."

Edward remained silent, but shifted his position an inch or so. Stuart glanced out of the corner of his eye at him; "I like rainstorms. Do you?"

"They turn off the electricity."

Stuart smiled, thankful that Edward said something, "Candlelight is pretty, though. I kind of miss that. Everything here is lit up from light bulbs. I miss the flickering light."

"I don't like it much."

The boy twitched and fell silent again. Lightning flashed again and thunder boomed loudly overhead, shaking the house. "I don't like thunderstorms much..."

Edward tore his gaze away from the flames and looked at Stuart, "Afraid, are you?"

"A-ah, no! Actually... they're not really that bad." Stuart turned his face to Edward and closed his eyes, smiling, "When I was a kid I would go into my sister's room and we'd huddle under the covers until it went away. We used to tell each other stories and see who could get the other more scared." Stuart opened his eyes and pouted, "She always won."

Edward grunted quietly and looked away from the redhead and back at the fire. Stuart sighed and looked down at his hands. He really liked the author and all, but he really was a poor conversationalist. For all the wonderful dialogue and characters and imagination that a story took to be successful, this one writer sure couldn't say much more than insults in reality.

"If you don't like fire then why did you make one?"

"I didn't say I didn't like fire..."

"Well, I mean, firelight..."

The blonde shrugged and tilted his head up, watching the shadows dance on the white ceiling, "I didn't want you to catch a cold and have that weighting my conscious."

"Oh... Young?"

He lowered his head and looked over at the redhead, "Don't call me that, it disturbs me."

"Well," Stuart shifted his weight and sat facing Edward, "What should I call you then? Edward?"

"No."

"But - "

"No."

The boy sighed and nodded. He didn't think the stoic man would let him call him by his first name. But really was being rude that way, "Mr. Young then?"

"Fine." He looked back at the fire, sighing. It seemed odd to have this boy so attached to him. And, even though he'd never admit it, hearing him call him so formally disturbed him more than his previous nickname.

"Alright. Mr. Young?" Stuart turned with his back to the back of the couch and his legs tucked beneath him. The boy scooted towards the author and hesitantly leaned against his side, nestling his head in the crook beneath his raised arm. "Thank you..."

Edward's expression flickered with the dimming firelight, gone as fast as it came. He inaudibly sighed and left the boy stay where he was. Another flash of lightning and an immediate burst of lighting resonated throughout the house, but the two didn't flinch. Stuart smiled, nuzzling the writer's side, and sunk into a peaceful sleep.

The blonde glanced down at the boy beside him, checking to make sure he was asleep, then rest his hand on the redhead's back. This was wrong – he shouldn't be in this situation, he shouldn't be sitting here in front of a fire with an adorable boy completely enamored with him by his side. But... he could allow himself to pretend it would be ok for now. Even if it was just for a short while, he'd let the boy play make-believe and he'd tell himself that he wasn't enjoying this. He'd convince himself that this didn't mean anything to him and that he wouldn't cry when the boy left.

~-~-~

You know, mush is just as fun as angst is to write! I'd never really noticed that until but that was really fun! My mind was racing while I typed up the last couple pages; I knew everything that would happen and the exact words I would use paragraphs before I would write it. It's a nice feeling ^_^ It's like your fingers can't keep up with your mind!


	8. Chapter 7

__

Warning! There's a... **lime** in this chapter.

Hello mina! It's been one week! Told ya I'd update once a week ^_^;; I don't know why, but for some reason I only just recently realized that British English is QUITE DIFFERENT from American English. Stupid me! I've done my best to keep it universal English since I have absolutely no idea what kind of slang they used back then. Oh well. I hope no one is too annoyed with me. I tried to add some slang in this one – not much. I didn't proof read the whole... uhm... lime scented part of the chapter (Yes there is a LIME) because I was too embarrassed that I actually had the courage to write it ^_^;

Thank you TalonSage (wai you like my fic ^_^), panatlantic, [blank] (please enter a name if you review again! Unless you want me to call you [blank]), A ferret in NYC, Sarasi, chibiukyou (hehe sure you can but no garuntees it'll stay! You might lose it!), ChibiFaery AlexaSakurazukamori (I got it right! Can I have another sticker? Please? ^_^), and Kai for the reviews!

Slang used in this chapter:

Belt up – shut up

Duff prat – stupid (and prat I guess could be used as brat, but I don't know the lit. def.)

- If anyone has any slang terms I could have Terry call Stuart and Hugh and vice versa I would really appreciate suggestions! (but they can't be too recent!)

Cast:

Yuki Eiri - Edward Young - 22 - Accomplished Novelist

Shuichi Shindo - Stuart Shubrook - 19 - Aspiring Poet, Song Composer, and Actor/Musician

Seguchi Tohma - Thomas Savage - 32 - Wealthy Publishing Company Owner

Sakano - Kenneth Saunders - 29 - Stuart's Agent

K - Claude K. Winchester - 36 - American Ex-Mafia gunman, works for Thomas as an Agent

Sakuma Ryuichi - Reece Swift - 31 - Accomplished Poet, Song Composer, and Actor/Musician (I found out those were common back then)

Nakano Hiroshi - Hugh Norris - 19 - Aspiring Violinist

Uesugi Tatsuha - Timothy Ulysses - 16 - Schoolboy

Suguru Fujisaki - Frederick Sullivan - 16 - Schoolboy and Aspiring Conductor/Composer

Noriko Ukai - Natalie Udell - 28 - Accomplished Pianist

Ayaka Usami - Anna Udolf - 17 – Schoolgirl

Seguchi Mika – Marianne Savage – Thomas's wife

Taki Aizawa - Terry Anderson - 22 - Popular new Actor/Musician

Ken-chan - Keith Bailey - 23 - Popular new Actor/Musician (usually in performs in plays written/starring Terry)

Ma-kun - Malcolm Clarke - 23 - Popular new Actor/Musician (usually in performs in plays written/starring Terry)

Disclaimer: Standaaaaaaaaaard. Oh! I own the director, though. Hey, I gotta own SOMETHING y'know.

**__**

Roses

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__

Chapter 7

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Right left, right left, turn. Right left, right left, turn. Repeat twenty times and you have a recipe for a dizzy redhead and a frustrated brunette. In less than one week Stuart had succeeded in turning the whole troupe (they called themselves Ask for some god-forsaken reason) against him. Not only had the music director complimented him and said he was probably the next Reece Savage, but Noriko said that he sang along with the instruments a lot more harmoniously than the stars did. And while that made him glow like a strong light bulb, the light quickly broke when the troupe standing behind the curtains scowled at him and threw dirty costumes.

He didn't have a very big part so that made them even angrier. Plus, at some point in one scene, Malcolm Clarke had a violin solo. Everyone in the orchestra said that Hugh was much better at it than he was, which angered the man more.

No, the pair was certainly not in good graces with the troupe. And to make matters worse, there were rumors Thomas Savage himself wanted to give the two a chance at writing their own show with Hugh as the music writer and Stuart as the lyricist. That really made Ask mad – the most they'd ever gotten from him was leads in musicals. And they didn't even get chances to write them half the time.

"I don't know what we're going to do. Those three are really out to get me now! I overhead one of the cast members saying that the last time someone crossed their paths he wound up dead!"

Hugh's eyes widened, "They killed him?"

"Well, no... He had some hereditary disease, but they provoked it!"

The brunette sighed and walked over to his friend, clamping a hand down on his shoulder. "I'm sure everything will be fine. And if they do anything to you, I'm here to hurt them. So don't worry about it."

"But they're after you too!"

"I could take any of them."

Stuart groaned and lifted Hugh's hand from his shoulder, then turned and faced the stage. The two men were standing in the wings, watching a rehearsal. At the moment, neither of them had to do anything. The orchestra was taking a break during one of the dialogue only scenes, and Stuart had to be on in the next scene. Unfortunately, Terry and Keith happened to be practicing. Every few seconds one of the men would have to repeat their lines because they were scowling too much at the duo a few feet away from them.

Stuart and Hugh had been there, watching this scene, for the past hour. And it was supposed to last about three minutes. The director screamed and pulled at his hair then threw his script down.

"Five minute break! Terry, Keith, get down here, I want to have a word with you."

The troupe members groaned and jumped off the stage, walking to the director. He really was rather stereotypical – short, fat, wore breaches, loafers, and was balding (most likely from pulling his hair out so much). "What is going on with you too? I've seen you distracted before but this! This is ridiculous! And why on God's green earth do you keep looking back in the wings? You're supposed to be looking at each _other_ not the stage crew! You're going to ruin me, both of you! Just ruin me!"

"Sorry, sir..."

"I don't want to hear 'sorry's from you I want to hear your lines! Now when this break is over you are going to go up there and do it right or so help me I'll be so angry I'll strangle the both of you with _one hand_."

The man turned and stomped up the aisles. Keith and Terry exchanged glances, then turned to see Stuart and Hugh creeping out of the wings. "Well, well, well, if it isn't the 'glory hogs.'"

"Hello, Anderson." Hugh stepped in front of Stuart, arms crossed. "I see you'll be out of a job soon."

"Don't be too sure. Shubrook!" The redhead jumped and glanced at the black haired man. "That's it, I'm talking to you. Quit your whole 'I'm so wonderful, look at me' act if you want to be in any productions again."

"Why? So you can claim the act yourself?" The singer lifted his head, smiling. Hugh snickered and turned, patting Stuart's shoulder.

"Belt up, Norris." Terry took a step forward, shoving his finger in the brunette's face; "Just because your little girlfriend over there is higher up on our list doesn't mean you're not up there near him. Watch what you say."

"Terry," Keith tapped the younger man on his shoulder, then pointed behind to the director walking down the aisle. The other man turned and nodded, then glanced back, "I'm warning you." They turned and walked to the director, then jumped back up on stage.

"Bloody bastards..." Hugh sighed and plopped down in a nearby seat, "I don't know who they think they are."

"Hugh..."

"Hm?"

Stuart sat down next to him, looking off into space with a blank look in his eyes, "We don't have any hereditary diseases do we?"

"Stuart..."

"What?"

"You're an idiot."

~-~-~

One long week. One very, very long week. His cupboards were bare, his laundry was stinky, his hair was oily, and he was fairly certain that if he had a dog he'd be dead. Mr. Saunders had not been out to market in one week. And since he couldn't really bake or cook he couldn't use his flour to make bread. Somehow the man had survived off stale milk and over ripe apples. Really... stale milk and over ripe apples are awfully rank.

So, that morning he ate his last apple and drank the last drop of the milk and set himself to brave the crowds of the market. On a Friday. On a Friday afternoon. On a Friday afternoon that was a holiday. The whole reason he avoided going to the market was because of the crowds, but because of that he'd wound up in the worst possible situation.

Anyway, why hadn't the butcher been by? He was signed up to get meat delivered to him. And to get milk delivered, and even some baked goods. But for some reason none of the people had visited him in at least a month. What's worse was he'd paid them for two months and then they just stopped coming.

The agent sighed and hefted his bag of apples. He'd have to stop by the dock to get fish and chips later on. He allowed himself that much of a luxury each Friday. Mr. Saunders paused in front of a vegetable stand and picked up a head of lettuce, studying it.

"Best quality! Got it just yesterday from the farms."

If that was best quality, the man mused as he observed the molded leaves, then he hated to see poor quality, "Ah, no thank you."

"Suit yourself! Could I interest you in some onions?"

"N-no," The brunette turned and walked away from the shouting vendor. He sighed, pausing in front of a dried goods store.

"Mr. Saunders?"

He let out a small 'eep' and bristled. That voice... was so familiar. Kind of like a fresh spring shower or tinkling glass bells or maybe even, yes, the laughter of children. Not that he liked children, he just thought they had sweet laughter. "M-Mr. Savage?"

"Ah so it is you!" The publisher stepped up a couple feet away; "I'm surprised to see you here. You seem to prefer to have your things delivered."

"Yes, well... Oh," He blinked, turning to face the blonde, "What are _you_ doing here? I-if I might ask."

"Ah, that. The maids are sick with something, the butler had to go visit his mother who was also sick with something, and Marianne is coming down with something too. So, since today is Friday, I'm out to get the fish."

Mr. Saunders nodded, stepping to the side as a car drove by slowly, "And you came on foot...?"

"Yes. We did get that car a few weeks ago but it's so noisy and very unreliable. Besides, I really think I need the fresh air." Thomas smiled and clasped his hands together, "If you could call it fresh."

"Y-yes. I mean, no, not really, I mean – "

"Did you need something here, Mr. Saunders?"

"A-ah, yes."

Thomas nodded to him and took a step closer, "Well, then." Step, "I think," and he was just in front of the man, "that," he rest a hand on his shoulder, "I shall be off to the fish market." The blonde smiled again and walked off past the agent, "Nice seeing you here, Mr. Saunders."

"A-ah, you too..." He waited until the man was out of site, then put a hand on the shoulder his fingers previously graced, "He touched my shoulder... I'm never washing this jacket again."

A car sputtered by, its black smoke emitting from the muffler. Just as Mr. Saunders smiled and turned to face the store's door, the car stalled and a huge puff of smoke engulfed the poor agent, before the car moved along the road.

"I bloody hate cars..."

~-~-~

"And this is Miss Teddy, but she and Teddy aren't very good friends because she's really mean. And this is Little Teddy – I like him, he's small. And this is – "

"Thomas!" A frustrated brunette sat up upon seeing her husband enter the room. The blonde smiled and nodded to her, then to the hyperactive blue eyed boy – er, man sitting on the bed with her.

"Hello, Marianne. Thank you for keeping her company, Reece, I hope it wasn't too much of a trouble for you." Thomas smiled and picked up the brunette then deposited him on the floor, along with his dozens of stuffed rabbits and teddy bears.

"Annie and I had a lot of fun! I showed her my collection. See?" He rose an armful of stuffed animals.

"'Annie'...?"

"Don't, just... don't."

Thomas coughed and gave the immature man a quick pat on the head, "That's very nice, Reece. But I think that it's time for us to eat, so if you would – "

"Oh you have fish tonight don't you? I miss that; we didn't have fish much in America. They don't have that special on Fridays over there! It was ok, but I really missed it!" He smiled, hugging the main stuffed animal – Teddy – to his chest.

"I'm so sorry to hear that."

"It's alright! I'm just glad that they still have it here! I really, really like fish."

"I see, well, then you could go get some and we'll have our dinner if you would – "

"Stay over?" Reece jumped up, clinging to Thomas with one arm and to Marianne with the other. "Yay! I love staying for dinner here! You have the best food, and K lives with me at my house since he doesn't have one here anymore but he's _so_ grumpy during dinner and it's really hard to get the bigger piece of meat because he always threatens me!"

"Thomas..." The publisher's wife twitched, trying to push the small man off.

"I know, I know. Reece, are you sure that – "

"And I really don't think K likes me staying with him all that much even if it **is** my house but he's just like that and I really, really, really, really like fish!" The brunette released his hold on the two and grabbed his hoard of stuffed animals (how he could pick up a couple dozen stuffed animals at the same time...) and hurried to the bedroom door, "I'll go put the silver out! I love doing that!"

Thomas sighed and reached down the smooth the wrinkles out of his suit. Unfortunately, his wife grabbed him, turned him towards her, and gripped his shirt collar; "If you ever, ever let him 'keep me company' again I'll make you wish you were never born."

"O-of course, dear." The blonde twitched, seeing the woman's frantic state. No one ever, ever made the blonde shake and cower in fear, but his wife was the last person you wanted to agitate. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, as the saying goes.

"He had better not stay for dinner long. My head hurts too much, be a dear and get the medicine, would you?" She loosened her grip and the man nodded, turned, and left the room.

"Teddy really likes the chips, don't you?" Reece smiled, shoving the greasy potatoes into the poor stuffed animal's face. "I do too! Don't eat all of them, Teddy!" He smiled and ate the aforementioned chips quickly, "Bad Teddy, I told you not to eat them all! Isn't he a bad rabbit?"

He rose the animal, placing it in front of his face, and raised the pitch of his voice, "'I'm sorry, don't be angry with me. I was just really hungry.' Of course they'd be angry with you, Teddy. 'Ohh...' but don't cry because I forgive you! 'Yay!'" The brunette smiled and hugged his favorite rabbit.

While this whole bit was going on, Thomas and Marianne had stopped eating and held their forks midway to their mouth, waiting to see if one of them would cry. Teddy cried sometimes, but it was always Reece who produced the tears.

"Thomas..."

"I know, I know. Reece?" The brunette lifted his head and looked at his former partner. "And... Teddy. Don't you think that Mr. K would be worried about you by now?"

"Oh no! He knows I was over here."

"But he didn't know you'd be staying over for dinner."

"Well..." the man lowered his head, "No... but I'm sure he doesn't mind!"

"Knowing Mr. K, I'm sure he's worried about you."

"He is?" Thomas and Marianne nodded vigorously, "Oh... well, I guess I should go cheer him up then!"

The two twitched, feeling sorry for the agent, knowing full well that 'cheering up' meant performing a play with the stuffed animals. Or drawing. Or keeping Reece from crying when he thought he'd failed in making you happy. "Yes, you should." Thomas stood and led Reece to the door, along with the man's bag of animals. "It was nice to see you, Reece."

"Bye, Thomas!" He smiled and hefted the bag over his shoulders, then hurried off outside.

"Thomas..." Marianne stood, walking over to the doorway, "I really don't feel too well. I think I'll retire."

"Do you suppose you have what everyone seems to be catching?"

"I wouldn't doubt it..." The woman smiled calmly and turned to go up the stairs, "You're not coming to bed tonight, are you." More a statement than a question, really. The man was so busy with his work that he rarely slept anywhere other than the couch in the parlor.

"I don't think I will. Goodnight, Marianne."

"...Goodnight."

~-~-~

"And then he threatened us and said that I was Hugh's girlfriend and I really don't think I'm a girl, and I'm certainly not his girlfriend but I think that... he was just trying to make me angry. But I gave him some really bad insults too! And – are you listening to me?" Stuart paused, turning to face the blonde writer.

"Hm? Did you say something?"

Stuart fell backwards, narrowly missing the table next to him, then jumped back up; "Did you hear one thing I said?"

Edward rose a pinky and stuck it in his right ear, "No."

"Mr. Young!"

"Your voice is annoying me."

Stuart sighed and jumped up on the desk, kicking his legs back and forth. Ok, so he liked Edward, and he was a good kisser. Ok, a really good kisser, but he was really mean. And he found the oddest times to insult the boy, too. "Mr. Young...?"

"No."

"But – "

"No."

"But you didn't even hear what I was going to say!"

"I don't need to hear to know the answer."

"What are you, telepathic?"

He let out a breath of smoke and let his cigarette rest precariously in between his fingers. The man glanced up at Stuart and looked straight into his eyes, "Would it make more sense if I were?"

"Ahh you're so strange!" The redhead jumped down from his perch and bound to the writer, plopping himself in the man's lap since there wasn't any space left in the chair.

"I'm the strange one... hey! What do you think you're doing? Off!" He stuck the cigarette into his mouth quickly and tried to shove Stuart off his lap.

"I don't want to!" Stuart smiled and clung to the helpless writer's neck, nuzzling his chest and purring.

"You dim prat!" Edward gave him one last shove and the boy landed ceremoniously on the floor. "Don't do that anymore!"

"But..." The redhead reached behind and rubbed his sore bottom as he stood, "Is it really so bad...? To want to be near you?"

"You're near me quite enough."

"But I want to be closer!" He lunged again and buried his face in the man's neck, "Why can't I?"

"Off..."

"You smell nice, I like your cologne..." Stuart, quite obviously annoying him, just smiled and sighed contentedly, settling into his little niche. "Is it new?"

"Yes, actually – wait, don't change the subject!"

"Mr. Young?" He glanced up, looking into the man's flashing eyes.

"What is it this time?"

"Couldn't I just sit here, like this? I'm not doing anything bad..." He sighed, seeing no change in the man's expression, and lowered his head, "Of course... I'm sorry, Mr. Young." Stuart moved to get off his lap but Edward rose a hand and stopped him. He pulled the cigarette from his lips and stood, lifting Stuart effortlessly with him, and put the tobacco out in the ashtray on the table in front of them, then stepped back and sat down, the redhead still in his arms. "Mr. Young...?"

"It's fine." He tilted his head back, resting it on the back of the chair. Stuart smiled and clung tighter to him, nestling his face in Edward's neck again. The writer sighed and rose his head and cupped his hand beneath Stuart's chin, lifting his eyes to meet his. "I'd rather see you." He leaned closer to the boy, his eyes half lidded.

"Mr. Young?"

"Shh..." His lips pressed against Stuart's and his eyes slid to a close. Stuart's eyes, on the other hand, shot open. Edward didn't kiss him often, really. The most heated kiss they'd had was that night and nothing much other than a shy peck from Stuart once or twice. Well, there was that _one_ time, but... that was more of an accident, really. Yeah, an accident. Right.

Stuart's eyes slowly closed. Edward didn't show enough emotion when they were kissing for him to be that interested in watching his face. The boy loosened his hold on Edward's neck and let his hands slide down to rest on his shoulders. This kiss was different from the last one – less demanding, less feverish. Not that Stuart _minded_, it's just that he kind of missed the raw emotions their previous exchange had caused.

Wait – the writers tongue slid out, lapping at Stuart's sore lips, followed by a quick bite. Stuart's eyes shot open again and he jerked back, startled from the teeth. Edward grinned and took another breath, then pulled the boy back and pressed his lips against his again.

Well, it was different from the last one. Even if it had started out slow, it certainly was much, much more intense than the last time. Especially since Edward was now coaxing Stuart's mouth open and sliding his tongue along the other man's pearly teeth. The redhead could taste tobacco and alcohol traces in the other man's mouth. He should recommend breath mints later.

Edward pulled back for a second and the boy moved closer, whimpering and demanding to taste the writer again. Lips were against his chin this time, as the blonde moved in again, and then under and slowly along Stuart's smooth neck. He tilted his head back, offering more skin and emitting a shaky moan as Edward ran his tongue along his collarbone.

Hold on there, his collarbone? Stuart looked down, seeing Edward's hands work at the buttons on his shirt, his vest long since discarded. This seemed all rather similar – the discarded clothes, the fingers working along his chest and sliding down his stomach and further – 

"Ah, w-wait!"

"Shh," Edward pushed him down to the floor and followed, pushing back the chair with his legs. He moved his face to Stuart's, kissing the boy's lips again quickly, then moved down to suck on his collarbone.

"M-Mr. Young..."

"That's right, say it again." He continued down, pausing to lick Stuart's hardened nubs. The boy let out a sharp gasp and shot his hands up, pushing the writer away.

"Stop!"

The writer paused and glanced up, "What? There's no one here."

"T-that's not what I mean! I don't want to do this."

Edward smiled and ran a hand down the boy's torso and down to his pants, "I don't believe you."

"A-ah... I-I don't feel comfortable... doing this..." He tilted his head back, unable to look the lust filled man in the eyes anymore. Plus, he knew he was lying. Sort of. He really didn't feel mentally ready to do anything like this – especially with a man, but his body sure wasn't listening to all the logical parts of him.

"I don't care." Stuart heard rustling and opened his eyes again, risking a look at Edward. At a shirtless Edward. At a shirtless Edward whom, he had to admit, looked pretty damn good. This wasn't going to be easy.

"Edward..."

"Be quiet." His tongue darted out, wetting his lips, then ran along the boy's chest. Despite Stuart's quiet, and weakening protests, Edward continued. It really had been a rather long time since he'd been with anyone – man or woman. He hadn't slept with many men, maybe just two or three, but he had to admit that he liked them much better. Women were too... soft for his tastes. Too much extra padding.

He knew doing this with this particular man wasn't exactly the best and brightest idea he'd ever had – this certainly meant that the boy would come over more frequently and bug him even more. He hated to think about what would happen if this continued after his break. But as the boy arched his back and screamed out his name – Edward had to admit it sounded very nice – he didn't think that he'd honestly mind this boy as his new play toy. Even if he was inexperienced. Oh, but he'd change that, oh yes.

~-~

coughs* I wonder if I should up this to R? I don't think I should. I know, you were all expecting a yaoi! I doubt I'll ever do one of those. I'm a girl, I don't know much about... that stuff (even if I read it like an addiction... .;). Plus, I don't want to up this to NC-17. Fewer people would read it that way (I wonder if that's really true).

I hope this was ok! I know I could be better at all this but I'm doing my best! I've never written lemons (and don't intend to anytime soon, really), but this is the most I've done.


	9. Chapter 8

It's a short chapter, I know, I'm sorry. I wasn't feeling very inspired (nor did I have ANY ideas for this chapter), I've been busy with school and tests, and I'm sick. So... I don't feel much like writing this week ^_^; It took a lot of work for me to get just this small amount done. Sorry! I'll try to do better next time. 

I know what I'm going to do for the next couple chapters. This one is just filler/plot building. I'm sorry if there are any mistakes, I didn't have the energy to go over and scrutinize my chapter this time @_@ Oh, and to anyone who's wondering WHERE THE HECK IS TATSUHA, well, he'll be showing up soon! Just another chapter or two and you'll see him!

Thanks to Vakkun, Kai (I know, but I don't feel comfortable writing that kind of stuff @_@), chibiukyou (wah, you know I love your reviews. Boo if the people don't appreciate you! I do!), and judyjudyjudy for reviewing. As corny as it sounds, reviews are what keep me writing this. I was going to not even think about this fic this week but I forced myself to so that I didn't disappoint any readers.

Cast:

Yuki Eiri - Edward Young - 22 - Accomplished Novelist

Shuichi Shindo - Stuart Shubrook - 19 - Aspiring Poet, Song Composer, and Actor/Musician

Seguchi Tohma - Thomas Savage - 32 - Wealthy Publishing Company Owner

Sakano - Kenneth Saunders - 29 - Stuart's Agent

K - Claude K. Winchester - 36 - American Ex-Mafia gunman, works for Thomas as an Agent

Sakuma Ryuichi - Reece Swift - 31 - Accomplished Poet, Song Composer, and Actor/Musician (I found out those were common back then)

Nakano Hiroshi - Hugh Norris - 19 - Aspiring Violinist

Uesugi Tatsuha - Timothy Ulysses - 16 - Schoolboy

Suguru Fujisaki - Frederick Sullivan - 16 - Schoolboy and Aspiring Conductor/Composer

Noriko Ukai - Natalie Udell - 28 - Accomplished Pianist

Ayaka Usami - Anna Udolf - 17 – Schoolgirl

Seguchi Mika – Marianne Savage – Thomas's wife

Taki Aizawa - Terry Anderson - 22 - Popular new Actor/Musician

Ken-chan - Keith Bailey - 23 - Popular new Actor/Musician (usually in performs in plays written/starring Terry)

Ma-kun - Malcolm Clarke - 23 - Popular new Actor/Musician (usually in performs in plays written/starring Terry)

Disclaimer: I own **nothing** in this chapter! Got that? N-O-T-H-I-N-G NOTHING!

**__**

Roses

~-~-~-~-~-~-~

__

Chapter 8

~-~-~-~-~-~-~

When you see a cute, fluffy tailed bunny hopping across a pathway you usually feel comforted. And when a bird perches on a tree branch above you and sings a merry little tune, you usually feel at ease. But when a friend stands in front of you with the absolute scariest grin on his face you tend to feel a bit... creepy. And that's exactly how Hugh felt. Cute little rabbits and happy little birdies were not things that he was concentrating on right now.

Although, if he had been he probably would have been a lot more comfortable. "Hello, Hugh."

"Hello... Stuart." Hugh's lower eyelids twitched. "Nice day, isn't it?"

"Aren't you going to ask what I did last night?"

"What did you do last night... Stuart?"

"That's a secret!" The redhead's voice raised about as high as would seem humanly possible and his grin widened... somehow.

"Ah..."

"Come on, now you say 'Don't act like that, tell me what happened.'"

They were coming, he could tell. Hugh had suppressed them enough times to recognize the feeling. Full body convulsions. "Don't act like that, tell me what happened."

"That's a secret!"

The tiny little bird above Hugh chirped once, hopped around, and left droppings just a few inches away from the man's shoulder. His body twitched, "Something happened with Mr. Young."

Stuart's face hardened, the giddy high look leaving, "How did you know?"

"Because you only act like this when something really good happens. And since chances are that Mr. Savage didn't prance into your room in a dress and say you've got the lead in the biggest musical of all time that you're writing, I'm guessing that something happened with the writer."

The boy pouted and stepped over to the tree trunk, leaning against it, "I suppose... But, it's all so strange. Isn't this wrong?" He glanced up and turned his gaze to meet Hugh's, "Aren't I doing something wrong?"

"Stuart, I've known you all our lives. We went through everything together, and I don't think anything like this could be wrong for you. You can't choose who you love."

"But, it just feels... wrong." Hugh let out a tiny sigh and stepped over next to his friend.

"Don't listen to society. You should do what makes you happy, and in some strange, demented way, he makes you happy. I don't know how and I don't know why, but you should never deny your feelings." Inwardly, the man winced. Preaching things he should heed himself but never did.

"Hmm..." Stuart lifted his head and looked up through the leaves and to the strangely clear blue sky above, "I suppose you're right..."

"Of course I am. Now stop worrying about this. You should go out and relax, it's a nice day and you don't have practice."

Stuart nodded and looked over to his friend, "What about you?"

"I have to be there. I don't think it's too long, so..." The brunette took a step back and emerged from the shade with his friend, "I could meet you later."

"Oh! I have a really good poem I wrote! At least, I think it's good... Mr. Saunders likes it but – he likes everything I write." Stuart rose a finger and tapped his chin lightly, "It's not very good by itself, I thought perhaps you could write some music for it!"

Hugh smiled and looked off to the side, away from Stuart's face. "Sure." His friend let out a pleased shout and hugged him.

"Great! I can come by your house later today? After practice?" Hugh nodded, "Alright! I'll see you then, Hugh!" The musician sighed as his friend practically skipped down the pathway, greeting the little fuzzy tailed rabbits and waving to the rosy cheeked children. Hugh imagined that Stuart was on some weird drug and saw the groups smiling and waving back. He chuckled, seeing the rabbits, skittish creatures as they were, scamper away from the exuberant boy, and laughed when the mothers of the children shielded their eyes and told them to ignore the crazy boy. To some extent, they were right. He was a bit crazy.

Hugh shook his head and turned, walking off the other way of the path. He should have told Stuart that the practice wouldn't be over until late in the afternoon, but the boy really hadn't given him enough chance to get a word in edgewise. It had been awhile since he'd been so happy, though, Hugh had to admit that. Hugh was never the one to make him skip down the road and act like he had just eaten strange mushrooms, but he was always the one who got the full impact of it.

Pulling a watch from his vest pocket, Hugh sighed. He would have to run if he was to get to practice on time. He hadn't expected to see Stuart on his way to the theatre, it was just one of his 'lucky chance encounters.' Yes, very lucky. The man scoffed and sped up, listening to the constant clicking of his heels on the cobblestone.

"Put that thing out, it hurts my eyes."

Edward let out another puff of smoke and ground the cigarette into his sister's wallpaper. The woman groaned and made a mental note to smack him when she got better. She rose a delicate, unmarked hand and gestured to her side. "Sit over here."

"I'd rather keep my health."

"Humph. I'm in no condition to argue with you, Edward. I must say I'm amazed that you even came over."

"I only came after my telephone rang for an hour and one of your servants banged on my door for another hour."

"Still, I'm glad you decided to 'grace' me with your presence. As you know, I'm a bit under the weather. And apparently father isn't feeling very well either. I got word from one of the priests the other day that he's bedridden."

"He's always bedridden."

Marianne turned her gaze to meet his and glared. The blonde stood there, unfazed and arms crossed. "Even so, I think you should visit him."

"You all know I'm not going to take over that damned church."

"Watch your tongue!" She straightened, smoothing wrinkles out of her satin house robe, "Father knows that. He's willing to hand it over to Timothy – even though God knows that's an awful idea – just because you're being so stubborn."

"Timothy will send the place to hell if he runs it."

Marianne rose a slim finger, "Precisely. Which is exactly why you need to do it."

"I'd neglect it. It'd be abandoned and in shambles within a year."

"And then father would haunt you until your dying days." The woman reached over to the bed stand next to her and picked up a pill and a glass of water. "At least go and see him." She popped the white item into her mouth and them swallowed water.

Edward let out a tiny sound of annoyance and pushed himself away from the wall, "Does Thomas know you're taking those?"

"Thomas doesn't need to know everything that I do." The writer shrugged and turned to leave the room, "Edward,"

"I know. I'll think about it." With that, he left, leaving Marianne propped up against the headboard in a dark, cold room.

~-~-~

"Ah! Mr. Savage, there you are."

"Thomas is here?" A petite brunette looked up, his blue eyes searching the room until they fell on his former partner, "Thomas!" He pushed himself up, knocking over the blocks on the floor, and bound over to the blonde. Reece's manager stepped in, blocking his path, and causing the man to barrel into him.

"So sorry, Mr. Savage, he just got up from his nap."

"I see." The taller man led him into the house, Reece following behind them. Reece's house wasn't very big for all the money he had; he never liked being in a big empty house. Said it made him feel lonely. Instead, there were expensive paintings, lavish decorations, and big lush furniture pieces. K stationed himself in front of one such piece, arms crossed.

"When am I supposed to do this?"

Thomas smiled and glanced down to Reece who was currently rubbing himself along the publisher's leg, purring. "Uhm..."

"Reece! Stop that!"

"Oh no, it's quite alright." He smiled and reached down, petting the childish man's head. Thomas coughed lightly as the brunette purred in response and curled up at his feet, "Soon. This week would be best. Not tomorrow, perhaps near the weekend. Or... no. The weekend is no good for me; I have to be out of town. How about next week?"

"Anytime! What about him?" The taller man gestured to purring Reece.

"He'll be fine. You'll continue living here, but you won't be handling his affairs any longer."

"Who, then?"

Thomas smiled and knelt down, patting the brunette's head. He straightened and started down the hall, pausing at a picture of a little boy holding a rabbit, "I was thinking... Natalie says she's bored. Myself... I can't say I don't feel the same way. Reece is always – " he glanced at the man-cat, "hyperactive. Times are changing, I think perhaps we'll come out of retirement."

"You don't mean you're going to – "

"Oh, nothing is certain yet. I still have a lot of loose ends to tie, some deals to finish. It'll be some time before anything happens." He turned to face K, "But, I think that something will happen. Eventually."

"I see. And that's why you wanted me to...?"

Thomas nodded, "Partly. I also think he has some promise. Reminds me a lot of Reece at that age."

"Just what the world needs, another Reece Swift."

"I think that's exactly what the world needs." The publisher nodded to his employee and walked past Reece. K extended his hand and stopped the man, holding onto his shoulder.

"Do you think he'll mind?"

"Oh, he'll be a little sad at first, but I think he'll get over it. It's not like he's losing a plaything, just a manager. And besides, I don't think he'll get lonely." K sighed and nodded to his employer. He watched the man leave, his secretive smile always present.

K turned to watch the sleeping form on the floor, "That's not exactly what I meant to say." He paused, then took a step over to him, "We were good together. I hope he knows what he's doing."

~-~

I'm not implying any KxRyuichi there (at least trying not to) because I'm not a very big fan of that coupling. I just think that maybe K regretted leaving his client more than he let on.

Cookie to anyone who can guess what Marianne's pill is! Here's a hint: It's from the east.


	10. Chapter 9

Ahh... I had something to say here but I forgot it. Oh well. There's an appearance in this chapter! Just... an appearance. I'll let you read for yourself to see who it is. I got this in a couple days late (I consider Tuesday my 'deadline' day) but I couldn't write more than the second scene on Tuesday and I couldn't submit in on Wednesday. K might be a bit out of character in this chapter but he's a hard person for me to write for! I don't know why. I seemed to of wound up making him like a crazed version of Yuki. Oh well.

Waaah ff.net got rid of its NC-17 fics! One of my favorite stories on ff.net was an NC-17 fic! *cries * Anyway... stupid ff.net, they're getting more and more annoying. I wish there was someplace else I could read/post fanfiction.

Thanks to Koyuuno the Wonder Inu, Kai, chibiukyo, A ferret in NYC, and [blank] for reviewing! Koyuuno and [blank] both get cookies! *hands them choco chip * chibiukyou, don't worry! I'm getting the RyuTatsu started REALLY soon! Just be a little more patient.

Chikkychappy... I never imagined that someone would actually give me that kind of review, but I guess it can't be avoided. I'm glad you think the plot is original and that my story is well written but... if you don't like yaoi, WHAT were you doing in the Gravitation section of FF.net? I mean... honestly!

****

Cast:

Yuki Eiri - Edward Young - 22 - Accomplished Novelist

Shuichi Shindo - Stuart Shubrook - 19 - Aspiring Poet, Song Composer, and Actor/Musician

Seguchi Tohma - Thomas Savage - 32 - Wealthy Publishing Company Owner

Sakano - Kenneth Saunders - 29 - Stuart's Agent

K - Claude K. Winchester - 36 - American Ex-Mafia gunman, works for Thomas as an Agent

Sakuma Ryuichi - Reece Swift - 31 - Accomplished Poet, Song Composer, and Actor/Musician (I found out those were common back then)

Nakano Hiroshi - Hugh Norris - 19 - Aspiring Violinist

Uesugi Tatsuha - Timothy Ulysses - 16 - Schoolboy

Suguru Fujisaki - Frederick Sullivan - 16 - Schoolboy and Aspiring Conductor/Composer

Noriko Ukai - Natalie Udell - 28 - Accomplished Pianist

Ayaka Usami - Anna Udolf - 17 – Schoolgirl

Seguchi Mika – Marianne Savage – Thomas's wife

Taki Aizawa - Terry Anderson - 22 - Popular new Actor/Musician

Ken-chan - Keith Bailey - 23 - Popular new Actor/Musician (usually in performs in plays written/starring Terry)

Ma-kun - Malcolm Clarke - 23 - Popular new Actor/Musician (usually in performs in plays written/starring Terry)

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Disclaimer: I'm pretty sure that I don't own anything in this chapter... yeah... or something.

**__**

Roses

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Chapter 9

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"Oh, hello Hugh! Stuart's waiting in the parlor." The red haired woman smiled and took a step back, letting the young man enter. She paused, waiting expectantly for an answer.

"Thank you, Mrs. Shubrook."

Stuart's mother continued standing there, a consistent, unnerving smile on her face. Hugh coughed and shifted his weight. "Of course, dear." The brunette turned his gaze towards the door she still had propped open.

"Are you going to close that?"

"Of course."

"Ah... right..." Hugh shuffled his feet, eager to get away from the strange woman. Stuart was bad enough; it wasn't fair that his mother had to be eccentric. It really made the man wonder what his friend's father was like – he'd never actually met him. Hugh envisioned a lithe, redheaded man who enjoyed bouncing off walls while reciting Shakespeare – poorly, of course – for a living.

"Waiting in the... the..."

"Dark?"

"Hugh!" Stuart pushed himself up from the floor and ran to his friend, "There you are! Come over here, help me with this poem."

"Is this the one you wanted me to see?"

He waved a hand absent mindedly to a stack of papers, "No it's over there. This is a new one." Hugh shrugged and bent over, picking up the first page on the stack. His friend plopped down on the floor, hunched over a few papers. "Waiting in the dark... never ... Hugh what rhymes with 'dark'?"

"Hark?"

"No, that won't work..."

Shrugging, Hugh eased into a stiff chair. He imagined that no one ever used furniture in this household – Stuart always sat on the floor, his mother always stood, and he never saw the boy's sister or father. Speaking of which... "Stuart, where's your sister?"

"Eh? Why?"

"Oh... no reason, really," he glanced down at the messy handwriting, "You talk about her so often and I've never seen her."

"Oh. Well, she's in France."

Hugh blinked and looked up from the page, "Why?"

"She wants to be a nun." The redhead, content with his answer, went back to the paper and pen before him. He tapped the tip of the writing instrument on his chin, then dipped it into the ink well next to him.

"A... nun? I didn't know your family was catholic."

"We're not."

"But..."

"Aha! Lark!" Grinning, the boy pushed himself back and propped up on his elbows, scribbling something down on the page. Hugh sighed and shook his head, turning his attention back to the page before him. The poem wasn't... bad, per say. It could have been much better, but Stuart had always been vocal than poetic. If he tried, the brunette could probably write music for it.

"Stuart, why do you want music for this? Are you writing a musical?"

"No... I want to write a song for Edward. He keeps saying how bad my writing is, maybe if I add music he'll like it more."

"I don't see what that has to do with the writing."

"What rhymes with dysfunctional?"

Hugh stared at the man, a rather blank look on his face. He opened his mouth, ready to say something, then shut it and decided against it.

"Toll! Thanks."

"I don't honestly think I want to see that poem..."

Stuart smiled and pushed the paper away from him and stared up at his friend, "So, did anything interesting happen?"

"What? Where?"

"At your practice!"

"Oh... well, yes, actually." Amazing, simply amazing. Stuart was actually curious about how things were going with him. This had to be a first.

"With those Ask people, right? I really don't like them! Especially Terry. He makes me so mad..." So much for the history books.

"Well, he wasn't really a problem today... Clarke and Bailey had the main scenes today. They kept shooting glares at the other cast members. The director told them he'd recast their roles if they didn't stop. I honestly think they're just naturally bitter."

"But Terry especially."

"I suppose."

Stuart flipped over, lying on his back. He rose the blunt end of the pen to his mouth and chewed on it absently. "I hope I can star in something big some day, show those three that they're not all that great. I'll be better than all of them, just you wait. And you can be the conductor."

Hugh smiled and leaned back in the chair, "I'd like that."

"Say, Hugh... do you remember," he pulled the pen away and studied the patterns on the ceiling, "when we were kids, and you would say that you wanted to be wealthy when you grew up."

"And you wanted to be famous." Stuart nodded. "Mmm... I remember. We used to think up a lot of scenarios... you'd be an actor and you wanted to be in one of those motion pictures. I wanted to be a wealthy concert violinist."

"Well, I think you'll be a wealthy violinist! And I may not be in motion pictures, but," he flipped over again and pushed himself up into a sitting position, "I'll be a famous musical actor!"

"What about poetry?"

"Hmm... I think I'll leave the writing up to Edward." Stuart smiled and rocked back and forth, closing his eyes. A tiny hint of emotion flashed in Hugh's expression, but Stuart was far too preoccupied to notice. The brunette sighed and stood up.

"I think I should be getting home."

Stuart opened his eyes and looked up at the man, "It's not late, though."

"No, but... I'll see you tomorrow, Stuart." He nodded to him, "And I'll try to think of something to fit your poem." Hugh bent forward and retrieved the paper. Stuart gave a slight wave and went back to his daydream, leaving Hugh to see himself out. The man sighed and folded up the paper, placed it in his vest pocket, and headed out of the room.

"Leaving now, Hugh?"

"Yes, Mrs. Shubrook."

"Hugh..." She took a step towards him and placed a hand on his shoulder, bringing his ear down close to her mouth, "What happened to him?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean... what happened between him and Mr. Young?"

Hugh blinked and looked at the woman out of the corner of his eye. Of course Stuart's mother would notice his behavior. Who wouldn't? But... he didn't think that telling her that her only son preferred men was the best approach. And it certainly wasn't something she should hear from him, "N-nothing, really."

"Hmph. I don't believe you. Well, I don't suppose you'll tell me, something in your eyes says you won't. I suppose I'll have to find out from him. Thank you for coming over." Hugh nodded, quite relieved.

"Thank you for having me." He hastened out of the door, almost running down the steps. His mother would find out, she was a rather devious and snooping woman. If she'd been born a man she probably could have been a detective. Or been in business, one of those.

~-~-~

They got along fairly well. The two had known each other for over a year and their friendship - if you could call it that - was stronger than ever. They even lived together. Both of the men were rather eccentric in different ways. One was a hyper active thirty something who was in dire need of someone to hit him over the head (although the other man did do that quite often). The other was a thirty something who was probably on a 'most-wanted' list in some state or country. Despite their rather... different personalities, the men got along quite well.

"Oh, oh, how about that one? I had some of those in America; some really nice lady gave me a piece. It's really kind of sour."

K glanced off to the side, looking at the small basket of mealy oranges. True – Reece had eaten oranges before, and for some reason it had spiked his hyperactivity so much that K had nightmares for weeks. No, he thought, he would not let Reece have an orange, "Lets try something else. Those look rotten."

"You're no fun. How about those?" the brunette pointed to a bushel of bananas, "Those are good!"

"How can this small market have such fruit?"

"We have the best trade route! We're near the ocean and I get fresh fruit every few days!"

K broke his gaze from the yellow fruit and looked at the vendor, "Is that so?"

"Yep, and the best prices too!"

"Those oranges have mold growing on them."

The vendor looked to the white specks and waved his hands frantically, "No, no, that's their natural coloring!"

The tall, blonde man leaned forward and placed a hand on the vendor's cart, pressing his weight, "Do you take me for a fool?"

"N-no! Of course not sir!"

"Then don't look at me like one." He smiled and stepped back, glancing at Reece who now had a bunch of bananas in his arms, one of which in his mouth.

"These are mushy!"

"Reece!" K groaned, quite exasperated, and strode over to his friend. "These fruits are bad, they're probably weeks old."

"Days, actually." The gunman turned abruptly and shot glares at the vendor who quickly let out a tiny 'eep' and cowered away from his gaze.

"Put them back."

"He already ate one! You should at least pay for it!"

"Are you trying my patience again, vendor?" K turned, giving him another glare.

"N-no! He can have them, free of charge! Just, please, don't hurt me!"

He smiled, "Alright!" he turned back to face Reece and gave the shorter man a light pat on the head. "You still shouldn't eat anymore." The boyish man pouted and put the bananas back on the vendor's cart, then tossed the peel from his already devoured banana on top of them.

"Fine... Oh look! Tomatoes!" The man rushed away from K, looking eagerly at one of the vegetable carts. "Can we get some, can we can we?"

"You don't even like vegetables."

"But they're so shiny!"

He let out a small groan and placed a hand to his forehead, rubbing it. There was definitely a headache coming on. If only the younger man would agree to having their food delivered, "Say... Reece."

"What?" The singer looked up at his manager, a potato in his hand.

"How about we head over to the butcher and place an order."

"Oh! Are you going to cook something tonight?"

"I was thinking that we ought to have our meat delivered. Most everyone on your street does."

"I like going out to get things."

"Well, how about the milk at least?"

"I like going out to get things." Reece stood there, pouting, now with a head of cabbage in his hands.

"I know you do, but... Well, say, how about we hire a maid? Or a butler?"

"No." Turning his back to his friend, Reece placed the cabbage down and picked up a tomato, "I don't want more people in the house. Me, you, and Teddy are enough."

"It would make things a little easier on me..." K sighed, he needed someone else in the house. He was a reasonable man – sometimes – and he could understand Reece's tendencies, but having to clean up after a full grown man with the mentality of a five year old was not something that made K get up in the morning with a smile on his face. He needed someone to help keep him sane. Well, as sane as he'd ever be.

"Reece, I think I'll start looking to hire a maid."

The brunette nodded, looking off to the side. He'd lost interest in what his friend was saying after his last comment. Besides, there was something much more interesting a couple yards away. He turned and continued looking off, ignoring K's speech.

"I know I'm not the best cook and you certainly aren't – "

That man looked... familiar. Sort of like Marianne's brother. Reece tilted his head, a quizzical look on his face. Yeah, a lot like Marianne's brother. Except, didn't the writer have blonde hair? And since when had he gone back in time to look like a teenager? His friend's wife's brother did look awfully old for his age, in Reece's opinion at least.

"Oh, K?"

"What?"

"Is that Mr. Young over there?" He gestured to the black haired man who was haggling over the price of some apples.

"Who?"

"You know, Annie's brother."

K just gave Reece a sort of funny look and shrugged, "I don't know, I haven't met him."

"Oh... he looks an awful lot like him. But Mr. Young used to have blonde hair. I don't know why he'd have black hair so suddenly..."

"Maybe it's his brother?"

Reece turned to look at his manager, "I didn't know Mr. Young had a brother."

"Maybe he doesn't. Anyway, Reece, let's go over to the butchers." Reece sighed and gave him a quick nod and followed him away from that part of the market street, but not before turning back and giving one last look to the Edward look-a-like. Unfortunately, the man was already gone. He shrugged and jogged to catch up with his friend.

"Lets get a car."

"What?" Reece blinked and walked in step with the blonde.

"I'm tired of walking around this city. And the horses stink."

"I like the horses!"

"They're old fashioned. No one really uses them anymore. We can afford a car, and I know how to drive one. You can always take a carriage when you need to." The brunette pouted and crossed his arms.

"I don't want a car."

"Well, too bad."

"But K – " he tugged on the man's sleeve, giving tiny pleading noises.

"We're getting a car."

"But _K_ -!"

"No, I want a car, we're getting one."

"Fine, but Teddy's not going to speak to you anymore!"

He sighed as the brunette ran forward in the butcher shop. It was no big loss – he didn't honestly care if the stuffed animal talked to him or not. Reece would get over it, no big deal. This was the first time that he'd brought up the subject of a car without the other man bursting into tears. That was progress, at least.

~-~-~

He had another one of those feelings again. Actually, he'd had that feeling for several days now. That sense of foreboding doom that usually meant something big – and not usually good – was going to happen. The start of it was the previous day – his brother, Timothy, had come into town and was going to be staying in their family's town house for a week or so, maybe more he had said. It was just another one of Edward's father's attempts to get the man home. After several minutes of arguing with his younger sibling, Edward had told him to leave and not bother him again.

If he knew Timothy – and he did – the teenager would be back today. Truthfully, he'd shown up about five minutes after he'd been ushered out and asked for directions to the market. His excuse was he hadn't brought any food with him. Timothy without a maid to wait on him hand and foot was going to be simply disastrous. If he didn't come banging on the writer's door today it would be a miracle.

Generally, his brother didn't even bother staying for more than a day or so, spent at either Edward's or Marianne's house. There had to be some catch, some reason that he was being more persistent. Stuart had said something about that Reece Swift being back in town – maybe Timothy had found out. It really didn't matter either way to Edward, he was just glad the boy wasn't staying at his house this time.

Edward stood in his kitchen, barefoot, preparing tea. Hopefully today would be calm. It seemed like it would – the tea was going well, the house had a pleasant smell and aura about it, and the weather was good. But he just couldn't shake that feeling deep in his stomach. Wordlessly, the man poured tea into his white china cup and left the room. He paused outside of the kitchen door and looked about. No sound... quiet, just a bit too quiet. He lifted the tea to his lips and took a small drink, then started across the hall to his study.

Knock, knock. The blonde paused mid-step and turned his gaze to his front door. Another knock came from the door. He sighed and disappeared into the study to put the cup down. The knocking came louder and more persistent and Edward left the study, walking over to the door. He grumbled, closing his eyes as he opened it.

"Timothy, you're staying at your house, it's not my fault there's no maid there for - "

"Hello!" Wait... something about that voice sounded oddly... not... Timothy. Edward's eyes shot open and in front of him stood a short, red-haired man with suitcases by him and bundles under his arms. Edward, quite taken aback but deciding not to show it, merely stepped aside and let the boy in.

"What are you doing?"

The redhead ignored him and ran into the parlor, setting up random things. He placed a few glasses on some of the finely finished tables, dumped suitcases on the expensive crushed velvet couches and chairs, and began opening some of them. "I can put this in the bathroom later but it's very important – " he produced a crude toothbrush from the suitcase and placed it on the couch. Edward twitched.

"And then this is very good – " he rose a pillow and tossed it onto the table behind him, nearly knocking an expensive centerpiece off. Edward twitched again.

"And then – "

"What are you doing?"

Stuart paused and looked up from the suitcase and over at Edward. He put on the absolute cutest face he could possibly muster and began his little speech, "Well, I was thinking, I'm over here so much anyway, and my mom really wants me out of the house and I thought that it would be better to just live here because I wouldn't have to walk so far every day and I – "

He wasn't able to finish his sentence because at that time, Edward walked over to him, picked him up underneath the armpits, walked out of the parlor and to the front door, and kicked him out. Stuart jumped up and ran to the door, trying to push it in as Edward tried to keep it closed.

"Get – out!"

"I don't want to!" Edward slammed his foot on top of Stuart's foot and ground down on the shoe. "Ow, ow, ow..."

"You're not living here!"

"But I promise to wash the clothes and cook and clean and I can keep up after yourself and you don't have a maid anymore and I want to be with you!" Edward stopped pushing against the door and stood there, giving the redhead an opportunity to push the door open and land on the older man. "I promise I'll behave and I won't bother you, and you live in this big house all by yourself, but I just want to be near you..."

His eyes slid closed and he let out an inaudible sigh, "One week..."

Stuart shot up, looking at the writer's face, trying to see if he was joking, "Really?"

"I don't know after that."

"Alright!" He leaned forward and gave him a hug and quick peck on the cheek, then jumped up and ran back into the parlor. Edward sat up slowly and kicked the front door closed, scowling at some of the horrified faces watching outside. He pulled his knees up and rest his chin on them, looking off into space. He had to be crazy; there was no other explanation. That boy had better know what 'personal space' is, he thought. Chances were, though, that he didn't.

"You can sleep in the parlor. On that couch." He pointed to one of the better-worn pieces of furniture.

"What about the guest bedroom?"

"You sleep on the couch."

The blond left the hall and disappeared into his study. Stuart sighed and glanced into the messy parlor – he'd been here for three hours already and he'd only gotten a few things put away. Mostly he'd had to deal with Edward trying to talk him into going home. He'd have to let Hugh know tomorrow that his plan had worked. Stuart had told him that morning that he was going to try to move in with Edward. His friend had advised against it and even offered the redhead to live with him if he needed a place.

Stuart lifted his head defiantly and gathered his toothbrush and marched up the stairs to Edward's bathroom. A few minutes later he came out, bounding down the stairs and running to the writer's study, "Mr. You – " he stopped, seeing the man hunched over some papers with a pen in his hand. The redhead smiled and leaned against the wall outside the room, "Good night." He turned to his left and walked down the hall to the parlor.

The writer dropped the pen into its holder and pushed his chair back. It had been a rather... long day. That good ol' sense of foreboding doom had come through again, as promised. He walked around the desk and turned the desk lamp off, then left the room. Quietly, he stepped into the parlor and looked at the boy's sleeping form. Edward took a few steps forward and took hold of the blanket that was falling off his body. Stuart mumbled something and turned over, causing the writer to drop the blanket. He stood there looking like a child with his hand caught in the cookie jar, and stepped back. Sighing, he turned and left the room.

~-~

Ok, so I ran out 'original' ideas near the end there. Ahh... oh well. I made this chapter longer than normal, are you proud of me? @__@


	11. Chapter 10

I've got something that I really want to say to everyone who reads and reviews this – **THANK YOU**! I was reading some of my reviews yesterday and some of them made me want to cry. I really, really appreciate all the encouragement and kind words you all give me! It means so, so much!

And thanks to Koyuuno the Wonder Inu, shina (I don't know yet! I think it'll be a few more chapters), dJeu (very soon!), [blank], chibiukyou (oh hai, hai, they're so cute ^_^), and Melissa Lee (I'm honored you chose to read my fic, of all things, when you start reading anime fiction!).

I have a question! I wanna take a little survey right now for future references in this fic – _Which coupling do you like the most? A. YukiShu, B. RyuTatsu, C. KxHiro, or D. TohmaxSakano? _ Please let me know so I know which to pay close attention to!

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Italics = flashback

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Cast:

Yuki Eiri - Edward Young - 22 - Accomplished Novelist

Shuichi Shindo - Stuart Shubrook - 19 - Aspiring Poet, Song Composer, and Actor/Musician

Seguchi Tohma - Thomas Savage - 32 - Wealthy Publishing Company Owner

Sakano - Kenneth Saunders - 29 - Stuart's Agent

K - Claude K. Winchester - 36 - American Ex-Mafia gunman, works for Thomas as an Agent

Sakuma Ryuichi - Reece Swift - 31 - Accomplished Poet, Song Composer, and Actor/Musician (I found out those were common back then)

Nakano Hiroshi - Hugh Norris - 19 - Aspiring Violinist

Uesugi Tatsuha - Timothy Ulysses - 16 - Schoolboy

Suguru Fujisaki - Frederick Sullivan - 16 - Schoolboy and Aspiring Conductor/Composer

Noriko Ukai - Natalie Udell - 28 - Accomplished Pianist

Ayaka Usami - Anna Udolf - 17 – Schoolgirl

Seguchi Mika – Marianne Savage – Thomas's wife

Taki Aizawa - Terry Anderson - 22 - Popular new Actor/Musician

Ken-chan - Keith Bailey - 23 - Popular new Actor/Musician (usually in performs in plays written/starring Terry)

Ma-kun - Malcolm Clarke - 23 - Popular new Actor/Musician (usually in performs in plays written/starring Terry)

****

Disclaimer: Standardized to perfection for your consumption.

**__**

Roses

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Chapter 10

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"Ah, Natalie, thank you for joining me." Thomas stood, placing his napkin on the table and taking the woman's hand as she sat.

"How could I turn you down?" She lifted her chin and eased into the wooden chair, ordering a glass of wine from the waiter.

"Pleasant weather, isn't it?"

"Enough with the pleasantries, Thomas, what did you want?" Natalie folded her hands in her lap and looked at him suspiciously. Thomas never wanted to meet with anyone for a nice little 'chat.' It was always for some sort of favor, or to call in a favor.

"Why, Natalie, I'm ashamed that you would think such of me."

"Thomas."

The blonde man sighed and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the white linen, "Of course. I shouldn't have expected you not to guess, after all."

"No, you shouldn't have."

"I was thinking about the old days – a nice feeling of nostalgia passed over me. I think that I miss our old days."

"Oh? Well, I have to admit, I find myself thinking back often." She lowered her head, a soft smile across her face.

"Then! That shall make this much easier on me. I was watching one of my clients the other day – a Mr. Stuart Shubrook. I believe you've met him?"

"That boy in the play? He replaced Mr. Smith, didn't he?"

Thomas rose a hand to cover his mouth and cleared his throat, "Ah, yes, him. Well, I was watching him the other day – you know I do go to the practices occasionally to see how my clients are doing – and he reminds me of Reece."

"Oh, you noticed it too?" Natalie looked up to the waiter and thanked him as her wine was placed before her.

"Of course. It reminded me of those old days, made me wish for them again. He's a promising case – not as a writer, though, which is what he's signed on for."

"He has a good voice." Her long fingers reached over to the stemmed glass and lifted it to her lips.

"Yes, he does. I'm thinking of doing something with him like Mr. K did with Reece."

"Are you sending him to America, then?"

Thomas shook his head slowly and leaned back against the chair, "I was thinking of trying it over here. I could have someone write plays, and he might star in them."

"Oh, by himself? Have you noticed – " She took another sip of the wine, prolonging the drink and savoring the taste, and closed her eyes. Thomas tapped his fingers on his arm, waiting for her to continue. " – that he is around that violinist a lot? Hugh Norris, I think."

"Yes, what about it?"

Placing the glass down, Natalie leaned forward and rested her forearms on the table, "Perhaps they'd be good together? They're both very talented – I think that they'd both go far, just not by themselves."

"Hm, you think so?" He leaned back in the chair and gazed over the woman's shoulder. Maybe he'd try that... it really couldn't hurt, and Natalie did make a good point. Stuart didn't seem the type to do things on his own competently, and the violinist did seem promising. "Well, I think I might look into that."

"Good. Oh, Thomas?"

"Hm?"

"What is the real meaning of this meeting?"

He let out a soft chuckle and shook his head. Leave it up to Natalie to see straight through him. "You remember, I said that I felt nostalgic?" She nodded softly, "Well, I'd like to try something again. The company is settled and has no problems, and you and I both are feeling restless."

"What about Reece?"

"Oh, he'll do anything I ask of him. And I know he misses it."

"You know..." she looked down at the dwindling alcohol and watched the reflection of the room, "I think that sounds... nice."

"I thought so."

"Thomas?"

"Mm?"

She glanced up at him and smiled, "I think I feel euphoric too."

Thomas sighed and tapped a gloved finger on his window. He and was in his office, waiting for the boys and Mr. Saunders to show up. He'd told Mr. Saunders to round the two up and meet him in the office this day, said it was important. Of course, the agent didn't quite know how to take that and just went around quite flustered. K was also on his way there, but he wasn't supposed to show up until the boys had left. Reece was supposed to show up later. Or was he here yet?

"M-Mr. Savage! I'm very, very sorry!" The agent ran up to him and dropped down to his knees, begging him for forgiveness, "Their rehearsal ran late and then there was an overturned carriage in the road and please forgive me!"

The blonde man let out an amused chuckle and gave the agent a quick pat on the head, "Hello Mr. Shubrook, and Mr. Norris I presume." The two nodded and stood there quietly, looking from the agent to his boss. "Oh, please, sit." They nodded again and plopped down each into the seats in front of Thomas's desk. Mr. Saunders quickly got the hint and climbed into the third chair. "Well, first of all, I need to address you, Mr. Norris. You're under management by one of my agents, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"I thought so, everyone in that play seems to be, even if they're in the orchestra – "he let out another chuckle, "I amaze myself, really – we're a publishing company but we have agents who manage writers as well as actors and musicians. How strange. Ah, anyway. From now on you shall not be under management of your manager. You and Mr. Shubrook – " he gestured to the redhead, "Shall be under the same management."

"But, Mr. Savage, I – "

"Now, now, Mr. Norris. I've made up my mind."

Mr. Saunders pushed his glasses up and leaned forward in his chair, "M-Mr. Savage, I don't know if I should be managing two – "

"Oh, but you won't be. From now on, you will not be managing Mr. Shubrook."

Stuart and his agent, well, former agent both stood and slammed their hands on the publisher's desk, "This is outrageous!"

"Mr. Saunders has been my agent for years!"

"Mr. Shubrook, Mr. Saunders, please sit down." He stood and looked at the three, "My mind is made up. Mr. Norris, Mr. Shubrook, could you please leave so that I may talk to Mr. Saunders?"

Hugh sighed and grabbed hold of his friend who was currently trying to leap across the desk and strangle the blonde man. He nodded to Thomas and dragged his friend out. "Mr. Savage, have I failed you somehow? I tried to do everything that I could and I've failed you haven't I? I don't deserve to be here!" He pulled his handkerchief out and tugged on the fabric.

"Now, Mr. Saunders. I said that you would not manage them anymore, not that you wouldn't work with them. From now on, you'll be their... oh, what's a good word for it... producer, for lack of a better word."

"Pro-producer?"

"You're good with their talents, but you fall short when it comes to managing."

"N-now wait, I haven't ever managed Mr. Norris before – "

"Nor shall you ever." He stepped around the desk and stood face to face with the agent, "I have someone else that will be working with them from now on. You'll be their... producer. I don't want to continue having to arrange Mr. Shubrook's appearances and you're not going a very good job of it. Mr. Norris's agent was good for him, but – " he turned and faced the window looking out over the city, "As a friend told me, they'd be good together."

The man lowered his head, "Who's to do it now?"

"I'm fairly certain you haven't met him. Oh, you'll see him soon, I assure you."

"But not today?" He lifted his head, a hopeful look on his face.

"No, Mr. Saunders," Thomas turned and smiled to his employee, "not today. You may leave now." The agent nodded sadly and turned to leave the room.

"Yes, Mr. Savage..."

"Oh! I almost forgot," The blonde sat down into his chair and looked at the distraught man, "I have another surprise for them. Bring them back tomorrow. They'll meet their manager then."

"Yes, Mr. Savage." He disappeared behind the door. Thomas smiled and leaned back against his chair. This might actually be interesting after all.

~-~-~

"Hugh and I are best friends and all, but I don't know if it's the best idea if we work together. I mean, it probably _is_ a good idea, but I'm not sure." Stuart followed a certain writer around his study, watching the man straighten up a few things and pick up various papers. He was a rather clean person but since Stuart moved in his house had been very messy. Even the study – where Stuart usually wasn't allowed into – was a mess. Now the boy had followed Edward into the room and neither seemed to notice.

"And Mr. Saunders isn't going to manage me anymore! I don't know what to make of that – he's been my agent since I joined onto Mr. Savage's publishing company. Oh, about that... Mr. Young, why is Mr. Savage's publishing company also a talent agency and acting studio and training centre?"

Edward slammed his hand onto the window ledge looking out to his tree, "I don't know, and I don't care."

"Oh... well, I would ask Mr. Savage but he's such an odd person. And then Mr. Saunders seems to have no clue either and well, since you know Mr. Savage so well I thought that perhaps you'd – "

"I don't give a damn about anything he does. Does that make sense to you?" The blonde man turned, glaring at Stuart. The boy shrunk back and nodded meekly.

"Yes, Mr. Young..." Edward's eyes twitched slightly at the formal name, but Stuart was too nervous to notice. He sighed and walked over to his desk, rubbing his temples. In all honestly he didn't hate the boy; in fact sometimes he even enjoyed his company – not that he'd ever, ever in a million years admit it. Stuart was just a bit too much to handle at times; he could understand why his mother was so eager to have him out of the house. Speaking of which...

"Brat."

"Eh?" The 'brat' lifted his head and looked over to his elder.

"What did your mother do when you left? Jumped for joy, no doubt."

Stuart's eyes widened at this – Edward hardly ever asked him about his life. Usually it was 'brat, get out of the way,' or 'shut up, you little shit' or something like that. "You, you really want to know?"

"Before I change my mind."

"Well..." He placed a hand on his hip and rose the other to his mouth, tapping his chin in thought, "It was really peculiar. I told her that I would be moving out and in with you – "

"Wait, you actually _told_ her you were moving in with me? You're more of an idiot than I thought."

Stuart waved his lowered hand in protest, "No, no! I said that I was going to move in with you at the request of Mr. Savage."

"You lied to your own mother."

"I didn't want her to think I was insane!"

Edward scoffed and sat down in his chair, "Too late for that."

He lifted his head defiantly, a mock insulted look in his face, "Anyway. She acted really odd after I said that. She dropped down to her knees and started praying and crying hysterically - "

"Out of relief. I would too."

Stuart ignored that comment and continued, "After that she hugged me and kicked me out."

"What a nice display of affection." Edward leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk, "What would you have done if I'd said no?"

"I suppose... I would have moved in with Hugh."

"Oh I bet he would have loved that."

The redhead shrugged, "He wanted me to move in with him."

"You should have. It would have saved me from constant headaches." He flipped open his cigarette case and pulled on out, placing it in his mouth. "Where are my bloody matches..."

"Oh, those... I uh, kind-of-got-them-wet-and-threw-them-out." Stuart coughed and started inching towards the door, "Well, bye!" Edward looked up at the boy and glared coolly into his eyes. He froze in mid-step – Edward's eyes could make a serial killer's blood run cold.

"You... what?"

"It's a ni-nice day, isn't it, M-Mr. Young?" Stuart closed his eyes, hoping that the man would have pity on him for once and let him go, maybe say something like 'that's alright, I'll just go get some later.' Fat chance.

"How in the bloody hell could you have gotten them **wet**?" Oh, well this was good. He was just in the cursing, accentuating words angry phase. Stuart wasn't in trouble until Edward got into the calm, ice cube anger stage.

"I... I had a glass of water, and, I wanted to read some of your stories while you were away, and I accidentally dropped the water onto the matches – only the matches, I didn't get water on anything else!"

Edward nodded calmly and lowered his gaze to the smoothly polished wood. "Oh, I see. Well, that's perfectly – " he looked up, staring into Stuart's eyes, "understandable."

Oh, shit. "Uh-huh, well I have to go meet with Mr. Savage now goodbye!" he bolted for the door, grabbing his jacket as he passed by the coat rack, and ran out of the house.

He held his hand out, signaling for a carriage. Slowly, one pulled up and he climbed in, tugging his jacket on. "Savage Publishing, please." He leaned back into the carriage seat and sighed. Perhaps Hugh would let him stay at his place tonight. Edward was a bit too angry to deal with, especially if Mr. Savage had more 'wonderful' news for them.

The carriage stopped and Stuart jumped out of the vehicle. The cabby turned and held his hand out, demanding the pay. He lowered his head and reached into his vest pocket, searching for money, "Oh no... don't tell me..."

"You don't have any money on you? What are you doing hailing a ride without any money?"

"I-I'm sorry! If you wait there I can go get some – "

"What do you think I am, stupid?"

With a flustered demeanor, Stuart rose a hand to his forehead and closed his eyes. Great, this was just a wonderful day. "Here you go!" a high-pitched, sweet voice came from Stuart's side. "That's enough, isn't it?"

"Hm." The cabby grunted and pocketed the money, driving off.

"I hate it when I forget money! I never know what to do." Stuart opened an eye and looked over to his savior. To his brunette, blue eyed, childish savior. Who looked an awful lot like - 

"R-Reece Swift!"

"Oh, it's a fan! I love fans!" Reece smiled wider and gave Stuart a quick hug, "Teddy likes fans too – see? This is Teddy, Teddy this is – uhm..."

"S-Stuart Shubrook." Amazing, his idol was standing in front of his, smiling. He'd been to several of the man's plays – a lot of them for repeat visits – and had all of his poetry collections.

"Stuart! Say hi to Stuart, Teddy – " he paused and rose the stuffed animal to his ear, "He says hi!"

"Hello, Teddy."

"Teddy also says he likes you!" Reece nodded to the redhead and hugged his rabbit closer.

"I like him too!"

"Yay! That makes Teddy and I very happy!" He held up the animal and placed it on his head. "Teddy and I are late, but we can't find our way around! This place is so big, I can't even find the entrance!" The brunette latched onto Stuart's arm and tugged him forward, "Help me find it, please Stuart?"

"Ah, of course, Mr. Swift."

Making a face, Reece swatted the younger man with his rabbit, "Don't call me that, we're friends! You call me Reece."

"Of course, Reece."

"Alright! Now, lead the way to the entrance!"

~-~

I cut it off at an awful place, didn't I? ^_^; Well, I needed something to write in the next chapter!


	12. Chapter 11

Long notes time:

(please note I'm in a bad mood now so if I'm mean then I'm sorry)

Hmm... well, I got it out late. And it's not all THAT long... but this week has been REALLY long and I haven't felt motivated to do anything. I'm starting to lose motivation for this fic as I go along. I keep finding out things that don't quite go along with the time period and then there's the whole CAR thing... the cars are giving me problems. Carriages weren't that common in the 1910s and it was mainly a transition into cars. So, you'll be seeing those a lot more often from now on.

Also, I'm issuing two warnings from now on: 

****

1. This is an AU fic, and I'm lazy, THEREFORE, do not expect any of it to be accurate! Since it is AU and I'm writing it I control the little universe they're in (writing – the only time you get to play "god"). If I'm not historically accurate well tough. 

****

2. There will be a character death. I'm not saying who, but it may surprise you. I'll let you speculate who it'll be. My mind about it is made up – it's key to the plot (I hadn't realized they would die, but as I thought more and more about this then I realized it was important that they did. For some reason.)

Thanks to Ayako, dJeu, Eike, MonKey Doki, Kumagorou, mayorie, chibiukyou, Kagedtiger, kai, jestagal, Melody Mist, and Renee for reviewing! 

Chibiukyou – yeah, but the majority seems to like YukiShu. Like RyuTatsu more, people! @_@ 

jestagal – I know it's a fruit. But did they? I doubt it. If they did they probably didn't care. Besides, tomatoes are in the vegetable section of the supermarket. Also, I know that I'm getting a bit away from the '10s. I'm working on developing the plot and getting all the characters in right now so I'm not focusing on setting as much as I did.

Well... the winner of my survey was A. YukiShu. With RyuTatsu as runner up... I think. So those will be the main focuses of the story. I'll work on the other two choices in the survey also, just 'cause I like them (hey I gotta have some fun writing this).

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/End long notes time.

****

Cast:

Yuki Eiri - Edward Young - 22 - Accomplished Novelist

Shuichi Shindo - Stuart Shubrook - 19 - Aspiring Poet, Song Composer, and Actor/Musician

Seguchi Tohma - Thomas Savage - 32 - Wealthy Publishing Company Owner

Sakano - Kenneth Saunders - 29 - Stuart's Agent

K - Claude K. Winchester - 36 - American Ex-Mafia gunman, works for Thomas as an Agent

Sakuma Ryuichi - Reece Swift - 31 - Accomplished Poet, Song Composer, and Actor/Musician (I found out those were common back then)

Nakano Hiroshi - Hugh Norris - 19 - Aspiring Violinist

Uesugi Tatsuha - Timothy Ulysses - 16 - Schoolboy

Suguru Fujisaki - Frederick Sullivan - 16 - Schoolboy and Aspiring Conductor/Composer

Noriko Ukai - Natalie Udell - 28 - Accomplished Pianist

Ayaka Usami - Anna Udolf - 17 – Schoolgirl

Seguchi Mika – Marianne Savage – Thomas's wife

Taki Aizawa - Terry Anderson - 22 - Popular new Actor/Musician

Ken-chan - Keith Bailey - 23 - Popular new Actor/Musician (usually in performs in plays written/starring Terry)

Ma-kun - Malcolm Clarke - 23 - Popular new Actor/Musician (usually in performs in plays written/starring Terry)

****

Disclaimer: Blah...

**__**

Roses

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

__

Chapter 11

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

He couldn't remember why K had asked him there. In all honestly, he hadn't even paid attention. Most of the time K never said much important, and even if he did all Reece had to do was nod and go along with it and everything would be fine. That always happened with Reece – everyone expected him to nod, smile, and go back to playing. Most of the time he didn't mind all that much, he was never one for making big decisions, but sometimes it made him feel useless.

"Ah, I have to go in here." He and the redhead stopped in front of Thomas's office. Reece smiled and held his stuffed animal tighter.

"Thomas's office? Why are you going in there?"

Stuart leaned back and rose a hand to his forehead, sighing, "I don't really know! Mr. Savage said we had to meet our new manager today..."

"Oh! I wonder who it is." The younger man shrugged and pushed the door in.

"It was nice meeting you Reece!"

"Yeah! You'll have to find me later and tell me what happened!" Reece waved goodbye to him and stood there silently as the door closed. Well, after that there wasn't much to do. He still had no idea where K was. Hadn't he said to meet him here? Or was it in the lobby? The man turned and leaned against the wall. "Well, Teddy, what is it now?" He leaned forward and rose the stuffed rabbit to his ear, "What's that? No! We shouldn't go bug Thomas, he'll be angry at me! No, Teddy, that's silly. Why would he want to paint his office orange? You're so silly sometimes."

"There you are!" A deep, heavily accented voice called out to him from a few feet away. Reece straightened and looked over to see K walking towards him. "I told you to meet me in the lobby."

"You did! I wasn't sure. I came up here with Stuart, he's in Thomas's office."

"So you met him already?" K nudged Reece away from the door and pressed his ear against the thick wood, "You can't hear much. I suppose I'll just have to go by guess-work."

"What are you talking about, K?"

The blonde smiled and gave Reece a thumbs-up, "You'll see!"

"I'm sorry I'm late!" Stuart stood in front of Thomas's desk; "I had a little trouble with the ride over."

"You could have asked me for a ride, Stuart! I bought a car recently – "

"Mr. Saunders driving a car – I don't blame him for wanting to come in a carriage." Thomas motioned for Stuart to sit down next to Hugh. The redhead sighed and turned to look at his friend before settling down. "Now, as you recall, yesterday I told you about your new arrangement." The three nodded, "I suppose that I should talk about some of the technicalities. Of course, this type of arrangement is fairly novel. I doubt that any of you have participated in one such as this." All three shook their heads, "Well – "

He didn't get to finish that statement as his speech was interrupted. The door to his office rattled and fell forward. A tall, longhaired insane looking blonde barged into the room, a pistol raised in his hand, "Freeze!"

Stuart, Hugh, and Mr. Saunders all proceeded to duck and clamber out of their chairs to the floor. Well, Stuart and Hugh did at least. Mr. Saunders just fainted and lay limp in the chair.

"I haven't said that in ages! Feels good."

"M-Mr. Savage, shouldn't you be under the desk?" Stuart glanced up to the publisher, who was now on his feet and smiling to the insane man.

"Should I be?"

"You should."

"Well, then." Thomas kneeled and sat calmly behind the desk, "Is that better?"

"Much better."

Hugh leaned in to whisper to Stuart, "Stuart – " he stole glances at the blonde who was currently cackling and waving the gun, "in case we don't get out of this alive, there's something that I have to tell you. I – "

"Thomas!" The publisher pushed himself up and glanced over the desk.

"Yes?"

"Is this the group?" He nodded and brought his body to a standing position, "Great! I was worried I was early."

"No, perfect timing actually. You never have been late."

"Of course!" The man lowered the gun and slipped into the holster on his belt. He walked over to Thomas's desk and pulled up a wooden chair off to the side. Thomas nodded again and motioned to the huddled men to sit. They obliged – Hugh sighing.

"Now, as I was saying – "

"M-Mr. Savage?" At some point during all this, Mr. Saunders had woken up and was sitting in the now sweat drenched chair, "Who is this?"

"Oh, I almost forgot. This is Mr. Claude K. Winchester or Mr. K, as he prefers to be called. He's the new manager."

Mr. K waved to them, smiling, "Hello!"

"Oh... of course..." Mr. Saunders slid into his chair, fanning his face.

"Uh, Mr. K?" Stuart glanced at the new manager.

"Yes?"

"What if I called you Mr. Winchester?"

"Then I'd kill you."

Stuart paled considerably and nodded, "Mr. K it is then."

"Well, now that that's settled. I'll tell you what exactly this new business deal entitles." Thomas leaned back in his chair, "Mr. Norris, Mr. Shubrook, and Mr. Sullivan – "

"Wait, Mr. Sulli – "

"Don't interrupt me, Mr. Shubrook." Thomas glared at the younger man and resumed the speech, "They will go to performances – generally plays, but as you gain popularity we might try musical performances only – that Mr. K arranges. Mr. Saunders will assist in the technicalities and in the... behind the scenes, as you will."

"Can I interrupt now?" Thomas sighed and gave a short nod, "Alright. Who is Mr. Sullivan?"

"He will be a new addition to your troupe. The three of you will be working on plays together."

"N-now wait a minute!" The redhead stood, knocking his chair back in the process, "I thought it was just me and Hugh! How can you add in someone else without asking us?"

"Stuart. He formed this without asking us."

"So? I think if you do all this, at least just let it be Hugh and me! We don't need someone else!"

"Mr. Shubrook, my decision is final. You will sing and act, Hugh will play lead violin, and Mr. Sullivan will conduct. Now, Mr. K – "

"Hold on!" Thomas sighed and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "First it's a new addition, now he's conducting? That's a bit big for someone we don't even know!"

"I am confident that it will improve both performances. Mr. K – "

"I don't think it will!"

The publisher stood and looked into Stuart's defiant eyes. "I really don't care. Mr. K," Thomas turned to face the gunman, "you may leave now. Could you have Reece come in before you do, though?" he turned to face Mr. Saunders, "You three may go too. I know Mr. Norris and Mr. Shubrook have practice soon, and I'm sure you have other matters to attend to." He eased back down into the chair and turned to face the window.

K nodded to him and walked over to the trio, "I think this will be entertaining." He grabbed Stuart's arm and nodded to Hugh and Mr. Saunders, "Come with me now." Sounds of an angered poet-slash-singer echoed in the office as they left. Thomas sighed and shook his head.

"Oh it will be entertaining."

"You wanted to see me, Thomas?" A high-pitched voice called out behind him. Thomas could envision the brunette standing there, clutching to his security bunny, and tiny pout on his face.

"Ah, Reece." He turned to face him, "Thank you for coming. Please, sit."

Reece plopped down into Stuart's vacated chair and swung his legs, "Teddy and I are happy to see you!"

"It's nice to see you too, Reece."

"Am I in trouble, Thomas?" he lowered his head, the pout growing.

"Oh, no of course not! I just wanted to talk to you about something."

"Is it something grown-up? K's still here if it is! He's better at those kinds of things than I am."

He laughed and shook his head slowly, then stood and walked around his chair to face the window, "I don't need to talk to Mr. K. Did you meet Mr. Shubrook?"

"Hm?"

"Stuart."

"Oh! Yes!" Reece smiled and lifted his head. "Stuart's really nice! Teddy likes him."

"Well he must be a nice person then. Has Mr. K told you that he'll be managing Stuart now?" Reece shook his head, "I didn't think he had. He's a capable man – I wouldn't have assigned that troupe to him if I didn't think so. However," he turned to face the brunette, "I think Stuart might need a little encouragement."

Reece lifted a finger and pointed to his chest. Thomas nodded, "I want you to start working on casting that play of yours. Cast him in one of the supporting roles. You don't mind, do you?"

"No! We'd be glad to help Stuart! Wouldn't we, Teddy?" He smiled and made the rabbit nod its head in agreement, "See?"

"I'm relieved. I knew you would help." The younger man nodded and stood.

"Can I go now?"

"Hm? Oh, of course."

"'Bye Thomas!" Reece gave a short wave to him and ran out of the office.

"Mr. K?" Stuart had followed the blonde man out of the building and onto the street. Hugh had already left to practice – after much arguing with Stuart while trying to get him to come along – and Mr. Saunders was pacing inside the lobby, trying to think of something to protest to Mr. Savage about. Mr. K was walking down the street and looking at some of the cars parked along the sidewalk.

"Oh! That one has a top!" The man smiled and pointed to one of the cars.

"T-that's nice, Mr. K... May I ask you something?"

"I think I want a black one. With a top."

"Yes, well... it's about this whole arrangement. I'm still not sure that I like it. And I thought troupes were usually larger than this one and... I'm signed as a poet! Not to sing, or act. To write. I don't know what is going on in his mind."

"Look!" Mr. K walked over to one of the un-hooded cars and looked in, "The gauge says it goes up to thirty miles! I wonder if that's only on this kind... I really do want one with a top."

"Mr. K!"

He sighed and stepped back from the car, turning to face Stuart, "What do you want, Mr. Shubrook?"

"Have you heard anything I said?"

"Yes, yes. You're angry with Thomas, you want to be a poet, you like to complain, I heard, I heard. I don't care. Thomas knows what he's doing – I think – and if he wants to be insane and do something new then I'm behind him." He turned his back to Stuart and started walking down the street, "You should be too. Get to your practice, Mr. Shubrook, I don't want you following me around."

He sped up into a light jog, leaving Stuart standing in the middle of the sidewalk. He sighed and turned around, looking up at the buildings. The places were a lot bigger here, it being the business section of the city. On the outskirts there were more houses, but in this area it was mainly businesses. Mr. Savage's office building happened to be the largest at eight stories. All the others were four or so. Further downtown the buildings got larger – ranging from five to twelve stories. 

Stuart sighed and walked down the street towards Mr. Savage's building. The theatre was closer to the outskirts and about ten blocks from where he was currently. He'd have to run to get there on time. Stuart sped up his pace and began running, dodging the pedestrians on the street. One of these days he'd have to get a bike or something, even if they were more suited for leisure.

He exited the wings with four other people and walked to center stage, took a bow, and went with two of the others to flank the sides of the stage. They waited for the rest of the company to come out and bow before doing another bow with the rest of the cast, then exited the stage. After a few seconds the house lights raised and the director called for the cast to come out.

"It's finally working! The first performance will be this Friday, don't forget! And Mr. Bailey, Clarke, and Anderson – thank you for not screwing up your lines tonight. If the performance is this good this weekend it's sure to be popular!" He waved everyone off and gathered up his things. 

Stuart walked over to the orchestra pit and waited for Hugh to finish. "Hugh! You all did really well today."

"Ah, thank you Stuart." His friend smiled haphazardly and gently rested the violin in its case. A loud sound came from the piano as the cover was lowered on the instrument. Natalie stood and stepped around the bench. She smiled and lowered the top over the keys and walked over to Hugh.

"Mr. Norris, you did very well. I look forward to hearing more from you." She rose a delicate hand and gave him a pat on the shoulder, "Nice job too, Mr. Shubrook." The calm woman left the orchestra pit, her followers sending angry glares to the two men. They exchanged glances and chuckled, somewhat nervously, then followed her out.

"She seems nice."

Hugh nodded and hefted his violin case under his arm, "She is. I suppose I'll see you later then, Stuart."

"Oh... right..." He paused for a few seconds before running up to Hugh's retreating form, "Wait! Do you think I could stay over tonight?"

The brunette turned abruptly, hope flashing in his eyes, "What? W-how come?"

Stuart looked down, rubbing the carpeted floor with his foot, "Well... Mr. Young is kind of angry at me and all – "

"Oh, of course." Hugh sighed and placed a hand on his friend's shoulder, "Of course you can stay over. What are friends for, right?" he chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his head. Stuart smiled and thanked him as the left the building.

Edward leaned back in his seat, setting his stack of papers down. He had just started on a new story and had the rough draft of the first chapter finished. It seemed like lately the only time he ever got a chance to write was when Stuart was gone all day. And that didn't happen often. Mostly, when Stuart was gone half the day, he could only think about how it was useless to start since the boy would probably burst through the door if he did. He never admitted it, but he hadn't gotten much work done not because the boy distracted him when he was home, but because he distracted him when he was gone.

When was the brat getting home anyway? It had been plenty of time for Thomas to yap his ear off and long enough for his practice to be finished. Maybe they'd gone over... The clock at the end of his hall chimed once, twice, six times before silencing and leaving the house quiet. This was insane; he didn't care that the boy was late. This was a blessing in disguise.

Plus, that knocking was probably him right now. Edward never gave him a key because he'd probably go ecstatic and think that meant he could stay longer. It had already been longer than a week – that should be key enough for him.

Edward sighed and pushed himself away from the desk and stood. He walked out of the room and out into the hall towards the door. The knocking was a little louder now and there was a brash voice on the other side, shouting out to him.

"Edward!" Wait... the brat never called him by his first name. He turned the locks and pulled the door inward. Timothy... figures.

"What do you want?"

"Marianne says I should stay with you now."

"Weren't you fine in the town house?"

Timothy shuffled his feet and pushed himself in past Edward, "About that..." he plopped down into the padded chair near the door, "The place is a mess. And it stinks. And I can't get the water to work, either. The plumbing is clogged."

"Stay with her, then. I don't need two brats to deal with." He closed the door and went to stand in front of his brother.

"I can't! She's sick, and their servants are sick. I'm amazed Thomas doesn't have whatever it is yet."

"You're going home soon, aren't you? The end of this week?" He nodded a few times then lowered his head. Edward sighed and rose a hand to his forehead, "Fine. You can stay until then. But if you say one word about me going back I'm sending you to Marianne's. Maybe a cold will do you some good."

"Thank you, Edward!" Timothy lifted his head and stood, clinging to his brother's waist, "Just as long as you don't kick me I think I'll be fine here."

"'Til the end of the week! Then you're gone." The younger man nodded and pulled away from him. Edward paused, getting a feeling that he had forgotten something, but shrugged it off as his brother ran into the kitchen to raid his cabinets.

"Your tastes have changed! You actually have food now." Edward groaned and retreated into his study, slamming the door behind him. "Nice you see you too!"

~-~

Eh... I dunno.


	13. Chapter 12

Well, well, well... ya thought I ditched it didn't you? Believe me, I **really** want to! But... apparently people like this thing. And if people like it, I've got to deliver. I was late mainly because I wanted, no, NEEDED a break. I still do! The first... 3/4s of this chapter really sucks. And I'm honestly very sorry that it does. I'm never, ever using my laptop to write this thing again. My computer makes me more inspired than my laptop does... for some odd, demented reason. My laptop keeps telling me to play Solitaire... I don't know why.

Anyway... I'm having a really hard time with this. I know what I'm going to do at certain points, but everything else is just... ugh. Plus, I have this idea for a KarshxGlenn (Chrono Cross) fanfic, but I can't handle more than one story at a time. Bleh. Oh! And SUGURU REALLY NEEDS TO SHOW UP SOON! I keep asking him to crawl out of his hole but he DOESN'T WANT TO . You all will have to wait more chapters (hopefully ones that won't take two weeks to complete...) for him to make an appearance. All in good time... Actually. I think I'll force him to come out next chapter. So... yay?

Thanks to panatlantic, dJeu, Melody Mist, Distance, chibiukyou, ShadeAngel, and Koyuuno the Wonder Inu for reviewing! 

dJeu – I never intended it to be a whole big Edward's past whole rape thing, so I guess it's ok. And I really don't like ASK ^_^;

chibiukyou – I know! I think I'll try to include it very, very soon though.

Koyuuno – you gotta admit, it made you pay attention!

****

Cast:

Yuki Eiri - Edward Young - 22 - Accomplished Novelist

Shuichi Shindo - Stuart Shubrook - 19 - Aspiring Poet, Song Composer, and Actor/Musician

Seguchi Tohma - Thomas Savage - 32 - Wealthy Publishing Company Owner

Sakano - Kenneth Saunders - 29 - Stuart's Agent

K - Claude K. Winchester - 36 - American Ex-Mafia gunman, works for Thomas as an Agent

Sakuma Ryuichi - Reece Swift - 31 - Accomplished Poet, Song Composer, and Actor/Musician 

Nakano Hiroshi - Hugh Norris - 19 - Aspiring Violinist

Uesugi Tatsuha - Timothy Ulysses - 16 – Schoolboy

Suguru Fujisaki - Frederick Sullivan - 16 - Schoolboy and Aspiring Conductor/Composer

Noriko Ukai - Natalie Udell - 28 - Accomplished Pianist

Ayaka Usami - Anna Udolf - 17 – Schoolgirl

Seguchi Mika – Marianne Savage – Thomas's wife

Taki Aizawa - Terry Anderson - 22 - Popular new Actor/Musician

Ken-chan - Keith Bailey - 23 - Popular new Actor/Musician (usually in performs in plays written/starring Terry)

Ma-kun - Malcolm Clarke - 23 - Popular new Actor/Musician (usually in performs in plays written/starring Terry)

****

Disclaimer: Blah...

**__**

Roses

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

__

Chapter 12

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"Are you positive that you don't need to stay longer?"

Stuart nodded once and pulled on his vest. "I don't want Mr. Young to worry."

"I doubt he would." Stuart smiled and walked up to Hugh, resting a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm a big boy, I can handle his tantrums."

Hugh scoffed and crossed his arms, leaning against the wall. His place was rather small for the area - he had lived with his parents until a year previous, when they'd kicked him out. 'Get a wife' they said, 'have some children.'

"Fine."

Stuart grabbed his jacket and slid it on over the shirt and vest. Smiling, he patted Hugh's shoulder and left the building.

He'd stayed at Hugh's place a couple times when a day went poorly with Edward. It was an understanding between the two - they got into a fight, Edward got mad, Stuart stayed with Hugh. And then when the redhead went back, they had a little fight and made up... rather well. Stuart grinned - when they made up the whole thing seemed worthwhile.

Rounding a corner, Stuart rose his head to look at the buildings around him. Most of the houses on Edward's street were three stories for the residence were rather wealthy. Edward's house, however, was only two stories. He didn't really need another one, it was only he (and Stuart) that occupied the house, and Edward never really needed more than one or two servants.

The redhead ran up the steps to his writer's house and rapped his knuckles on the door. He bounced on the balls of his feet for a few seconds, waiting for Edward to open the door. After a minute, the door did open. Stuart began to bound forward and cling to the man, but stopped abruptly. Something was very, very odd with Edward. First of all, he'd never seen him with black hair. Secondly, he'd never seen him with dark eyes. And third, he'd never seen him with such a... lecherous expression on his face.

"M-Mr. Young?"

"Oh, it is you!" Black-haired Edward grabbed the other man by his wrists and dragged him into the house.

"You look..."

"Handsome? Cunning? Dashing? Smart?"

"Odd. And a bit younger than yesterday."

"What?" He rose a thin eyebrow and shut the door behind Stuart, "What are you talking about?"

"You - did I do something?" Stuart's expression turned dark; "I did, didn't I? I did something awful and now you've gone mad. Oh, I'm so, so sorry Mr. Young! I didn't mean to break you, I... I can fix you! I think..."

"'Mr. Young'?" He shook his head, "No, no you must have me confused with my brother."

"Bro-brother? He never told me he had a brother."

Edward's brother shrugged, "It slips his mind, I guess. Just like a lot of things. Anyway," the black-haired man extended a hand to Stuart, "I'm Timothy. Nice to meet you. Edward mentioned this morning that you might come by."

"Oh... I'm Stuart." He grasped Timothy's hand.

"I know."

"Oh." Stuart tugged his hand away from Timothy and retreated into the dining room. Sighing, he pulled a chair away from the table and sat. Timothy's head peaked in the doorway.

"I'm sorry that I startled you."

"That's alright." He waved his hand dismissing him and turned in the seat to face the fireplace next to the table. Timothy coughed and took a step into the room.

"I suppose I should explain myself... I'm his younger brother. I'm staying here until the end of the week."

"How come he never mentioned you?"

"He's like that. He forgets or he doesn't think it matters." He walked to the tableside near the fireplace and sat down. "Have you been living with him long?"

"He-he hasn't told you?"

He shrugged, "I would have been amazed if he had."

"Well... two or three weeks."

"Hm, getting close."

"Excuse me?"

Timothy waved his hands frantically, shaking his head, "It's nothing."

Stuart eyed him, warring, and shrugged, "So, where are you from? You sound like you have an accent."

"You don't know?" Timothy smiled, "Of course, he hasn't told you. We're from France. You could say that our family is stationed there."

"Oh, French! I thought that was it!" Stuart smiled, "I'd like to visit France some day, but I'm not in a hurry to cross seas."

"Of course. It's a very nice country." The younger man pouted and leaned against the back of his chair, "I want to move into a large chateau but father won't go for that. We have plenty of money; he just wants to stay in our small house. We have two houses, though - one in the country, and one in the city near the..." Timothy trailed off and glanced away from Stuart.

"Near the what?"

"Nothing. It's all right, I suppose. I've always liked larger places, though. Father, however, likes to feel cramped."

"Are you the only one living there with him?" Timothy nodded. "Oh, that's like me! I lived with my mother before moving in with Mr. Young."

"I see." Stuart turned his gaze to look out the window in the back of the room. He leaned forward, propping his chin on his palms. Timothy crossed his arms along his chest and watched the redhead before him. The previous night, Edward had spent two hours in his office. Timothy hadn't been able to tell if he'd been writing or not - the light seemed to be off. Of course, Timothy being the curious soul that he was, wandered into the parlor and rummaged around the 'new junk' there. He'd never taken Edward to be a Reece Swift fan, so it really shocked him to find a couple promotional posters slid underneath one of the sofas. Timothy had immediately barged into the study and inquired him about it. If he hadn't of done that, he probably wouldn't have found out about Stuart.

"Stuart?"

"Hm?" The redhead turned his gaze to Timothy, a serene day-dreamy look on his face. Timothy thought he looked rather familiar.

"Do you like Reece Swift?"

"Ah! Reece!" Stuart smiled and nodded his head vigorously, "I do! I met him the other day, he's really nice."

"You... met him? How, where?"

"At Savage Publishing downtown."

"I should visit there some time... So, what did he say? Is he as wonderful in person as he is on stage?" Timothy leaned forward, his eyes glazed over; "I've seen every play he was in in France and almost all of them in England."

"You must travel a lot!"

"Oh, not anymore. I wanted to see him in America but father wouldn't let me."

The older man smiled and closed his eyes; "You're very lucky to have seen so many."

Timothy's mouth opened slightly, forming a small 'o'. Stuart looked very, very familiar. He was certain he'd seen him somewhere before. The teenager stood and made for the door, "Do you have any other posters? I saw two of them."

"Hm? Oh! Yes, I have three." He stood and followed Timothy out of the room; "I keep the other one hidden. It's my favorite."

"Where did he hide it? I looked everywhere..." Timothy massaged his chin as the entered the parlor.

"Did you say something?"

"Oh, no! So, where is it?"

Stuart shook his head and stepped in front of the younger man, "You have to close your eyes! I don't want you knowing where it is."

"You're being a bore!"

"Close!" Timothy sighed and rose a hand to his eyes, closing them. Stuart smiled and ran to the fireplace, glancing over his shoulder occasionally to make sure that the other man wasn't looking, "No peeking!" He stepped over to the wall next to the fireplace and peeled some of the wallpaper off. Mainly he didn't want Timothy to see where the poster was hidden because he knew if Edward found out he'd be dead. Or worse - kicked out. He carefully pressed the wallpapering back down and turned to face Timothy. "Alright!"

The black-haired man lowered his hand and opened his eyes. He stepped over to Stuart and leaned forward to look at the poster, "Oh! That was my favorite of his. I saw it at least three times."

Stuart lowered his head to look at the poster, "I wanted to see it, but I couldn't get enough money to." Timothy shrugged and pulled the poster away, raising it to eye level. He glanced from the man before him to the poster.

"Hmm..."

"What, what is it?"

He walked over to Stuart and circled him, glancing back to the poster occasionally, making quiet 'hm' noises. His feet stopped all of a sudden and he dropped the poster to the floor, "I knew it! I knew you looked familiar?"

"Wh-what?"

Timothy stood behind Stuart and rose his arms, "The hair is a different color but..." he slowly enclosed his arms around the shorter man's shoulders and nuzzled his face into the crook of Stuart's neck, "I wonder... does he smell like this too?"

"W-what are you _doing?!_" The redhead grabbed hold of his captor's arms and tried to pull them off. Unfortunately for him, Timothy was much taller and much stronger than he was. So, the arms stayed. For a few seconds or so. After a little while Timothy's hands drifted down to loosen Stuart's shirt collar.

"Your skin is so soft..."

"Timothy!" Stuart turned his head abruptly and clamped his teeth down on the man's ear. The teen let out a tiny yelp and loosened his hold, allowing Stuart to jump away and grab a fire poker to arm himself with, "What in God's name do you think you're doing?!"

"I was just - you look so much like Reece, and I look an awful lot like my brother... " Stuart faltered for a couple seconds upon hearing himself compared to Reece. He? Look like a god like Reece? How was that... possible? Timothy saw this lapse in his expression and leapt forward, pushing the poker away and pinning Stuart's arms to his sides, "It'll be nice, just let us pretend..."

"Get off of me! Mr. Young!"

"He won't be home for another hour, we have plenty of time..." Timothy took a couple steps forward and fell over with Stuart onto the floor. Stuart's blood rushed to his head and he was very certain that he'd faint any second. He fought to stay conscious - he hated to find out what would happen if he were to faint.

"Mr. Young!"

~-~-~

Edward was, in fact, gone for the afternoon. Or at least for a couple hours. Thomas had called him up earlier that day and asked to meet with him at his office to discuss any new story line prospects. When Edward had arrived, his publisher had been staring out of his window, smoking a cigarette. He'd offered Edward one and the writer had gratefully obliged - he hadn't had a cigarette in a rather long time. The brat still hadn't bought him more matches.

"Please, sit. I hope you had a relaxing vacation." Edward shot the other blonde a rather nasty look of contempt before falling into one of the chairs opposite Thomas's desk, "How nice to know. I'd like to take a vacation. Marianne's a bit under the weather, though. A trip to Italy might be nice."

"Hn."

"You might come. Maybe walking around Florence would help you. Or you could visit your family in France..."

"I'm working right now, Thomas."

The older man smiled, "Of course."

"What do they want this time?" He leaned back and took a long drag from the cigarette.

"They?"

"The public, dammit. What is this next shit supposed to be?"

"Oh, you mean the story." Edward took another drag and let the smoke puff out of his mouth, "Well, your last book sold well. What was that about? Some girl falling in love with a man in high society? What happened in the end? It slips my mind."

"She dies."

"Of course. Why don't you let the heroine live this time?"

"Fine."

"Do you have any ideas?"

Edward shrugged and ground the half-finished cigarette into the ashtray on Thomas's desk. "Maybe some book about country peasants."

"Think about your audience, Edward."

"Bloody rich bastards who live in the country, then." Thomas nodded, "Maybe I'll kill the man off."

"They'd expect that, wouldn't they?"

"They're not that smart."

"Hm... Continue."

"Some young girl... and older man, maybe. Perhaps he'll develop pneumonia. Or scarlet fever." Thomas nodded absently and offered Edward another cigarette that he gladly accepted. The writer held the cigarette out in his mouth as it was lit then leaned back in the chair again, "Young girl, with an old man, with pneumonia, in the country."

"Well, _that_ will sell well."

"You're right, it's awful. They're both young French peasants."

"That might work."

Edward snorted and took another drag of his cigarette. For his entire suave business-like manner, Thomas was really easy to trick. "They'll both die."

"Interesting."

"In some strange donkey accident."

"Intriguing." The older blonde leaned forward and rested his elbows on the desk, "Edward."

"What?"

"What are you still doing with him?"

Edward blinked and pulled the cigarette out of his mouth, "Who?"

"You know who - that boy."

"Oh, him." He placed the cigarette back and inhaled.

"This is the longest I've seen you stay with anyone. What's so special about him?"

He looked away and let the cigarette hang dead in his mouth. "Nothing."

"If it's nothing then leave him already."

Edward sighed and stood, walking away from the desk. Thomas did everything he could to control the writer's life. He couldn't tell if it was jealousy, his over-protective nature, or if he really did feel concerned. Edward couldn't tell anymore, but he was almost certain it wasn't the latter. It never was.

"Edward, this is self destructive. You're just hurting yourself and him by staying with him."

"What do you know?"

Thomas feigned hurt - or at least Edward figured it was feigned - and placed a hand to his forehead, "I know what's best for you, Edward. I know you well enough."

"You're acting like my father."

"I may as well be. I'm only thinking of your best interests."

"Hah, that's a laugh."

Thomas sighed and walked around his desk to Edward, "Edward... people might find out. They'll talk. If people were to find out that you were insane... do you know how much your sales would dwindle?"

"I knew there was some hidden agenda. You're only concerned about your company."

"Of course I am! You're the biggest author at this publishing company. But," he laid a hand on his shoulder; "I'm also concerned about you."

Edward remained silent and shrugged his publisher's hand off. He walked towards the door and paused before turning to look back at him, "I'll think about it." He disappeared behind the door. Thomas sighed and turned to look out of the window in his office.

His home was his haven. There was a nice, quiet little study with nice, quiet little pieces of papers and quills and pens and books stacked along the walls. In his kitchen was a nice, quiet little cupboard with nice food. The dining room had calm, pretty chairs and a large window and a _nice_, attractive cupboard with lots of china. Upstairs were nice big rooms with nice carpeting and proper wallpapering that never peeled and the beds were always made.

That had all changed with Stuart moved in. The study was no longer a quiet haven with quiet books of knowledge – no, instead, it was a cramped little hole in hell with papers everywhere and dammit he could never find his cigarettes anymore. The kitchen was a mess, he never knew if the cupboard would be stocked or not and he _certainly_ never knew what was in it. He was lucky that the china was still in tact, and very lucky that Stuart only ventured upstairs to use the tiny bathroom.

However, for all of Stuart's... reckless ways, he never shouted 'Mr. Young!' in the parlor – at least never when the writer wasn't home. Edward sighed and pulled his jacket off, hanging it on the coat-rack near the door, and walked to the parlor. Chances were that Timothy had found him. Bloody idiot, he had worse hormones than Stuart did.

And of course, he was right. Why was he always right? Edward crossed his arms, leaning against the door frame leading into the parlor. In some strange way Edward felt a little sorry for Stuart. A little sorry. Most of him just thought it was rather amusing.

"**Get away!** Mr. Young! Mr. You – "

"Timothy. Kindly stop harassing the man on the floor."

Timothy halted, just a few inches away from Stuart's mouth. He probably would have kissed him too, if Edward hadn't interrupted. Stuart's hands were pressed up underneath the younger man's chin, trying to force him away... or break his head off, whichever came first.

"E-Edward!"

"Mr. Young!" Stuart took this opportunity to forcibly shove the other man off him and run to his lover, "Thank you! I don't know what I would have done had you been any later!"

"I do..." Timothy grumbled dejectedly on the floor behind them.

"Timothy."

"What?"

"Leave now."

He sighed and pushed himself up off the ground, "Fine. I'll go buy some meat... Stuart can cook can't he?"

"Out."

"Right then!" Timothy nodded to them and hurried out of the room, intent on escaping his brother's wrath. Sometimes he could take him, other times he woke up in a dark room wearing a dress with who knows how many bruises. He never questioned how that happened – one didn't question Edward's sanity, er, motives.

"Thank you, Mr. Young."

Edward grunted and walked past Stuart to his couch. The redhead downcast his eyes and followed, "I have a question..." He glanced up to look at Edward, and seeing no consternation, continued, "Well... as you may know, my debut... performance is this weekend... and, do you think that perhaps... you could come see it?"

He lowered his head again, waiting to hear Edward say something like 'why should I see something useless?' or 'I don't watch theatre' or even the more biting, flat-out 'no'. However, Edward didn't say anything. In fact, when Stuart looked up to see if he was even a bit angry, the man had absolutely no expression. Stuart sighed and lowered his head again, "I understand. It was silly of me. What if people talked? You're right, let's forget it."

"When is it?"

The redhead blinked suddenly and looked up, trying to read Edward's still blank face, "Friday. At eight."

"Hm."

"Will you come?"

The writer turned his gaze to look past Stuart, "If it's convenient."

"Really?!" Stuart leaned forward, wrapping his arms around the taller man's waist, "Thank you! Thank you!"

"W-wait!" Blushing, Edward pushed him away and turned his face abruptly away, making sure Stuart didn't see his face, "I did _not_ say I would."

"But you did _not_ say you wouldn't. Oh I do hope you come! It really would mean a lot to me." He gave Edward another hug then stood. "I'm going to see if Timothy is back with the meat yet."

Edward turned, "Wait..."

"Hm?"

He paused, then shook his head, "Forget it." Stuart shrugged and turned to run out of the room. The blonde sighed and leaned back against the couch. If he did go... Stuart would be happy. And as annoying as Stuart was when he was happy, he was even more annoying when he was angry. However, Thomas would be very, very angry....

"...To hell with Thomas."

~-~

Yeah! To hell with Thomas! .; * cough*


	14. Chapter 13

Ok, you're probably wondering why this chapter is 2 weeks late.  I have good excuses!  Really, I do!  Sure, some of it was laziness on my part but eh.

Reason #1:  My computer broke.  One week after I submitted the last chapter, my computer went all... dead on me.  It was out for two days, we got it to work for one more day, then after that it was out for two more days.  Then, my dad cobbled together a computer that I could use until I got my new parts.  That's what I'm using right now.  The new computer SUPPOSED to be ready today, but the geniuses at the computer place broke one of the parts and had to reorder it.  So, I should be getting it tomorrow.

Reason #2: This computer has no Word.  

And that's why this thing is late.  I hope it's a satisfactory explanation x_x  I have a clear view as to what I'm doing now, so that should be the only hindrance for awhile.  I've got about 7 major 'instances' in this story, and 2 have happened, the third is about to happen.  So, that means I'm almost half-way through!  Yay!

Note: I'm done posting the cast, if you wanna know who is who, just hit the 'Back' button and look at the list in the first chapter.  

Thanks to dJeu, Kumagorou, panatlantic, Lilyblue, jenny, Ayako, jestagal, Melody Mist, ShadeAngel, Hoshi no megami, c-chan, chibiukyou, Din, and ai for all your encouraging reviews!  

Ayako - Hai, I will once I get this story finished (I've actually started on it already).

c-chan - Yay!  Another anti-ASK person ^_^

chibiukyou - XD ahhh I love your reviews!  I know you make my day brighter with them (and I'm sure you do the same for the authors of all the other stories you review ^_^)

Disclaimer:  All I own is my *barely* functioning computer.  And I didn't even pay for that... @_@

**__**

**__**

**_Roses_**

~-~-~-~-~-~

Chapter 13

~-~-~-~-~-~

          The day had been nice so far.  He'd gotten home early and Edward had been in particularly nice mood.  The man had been dressed rather oddly, though.  Edward was never one to wear a formal suit, but he was standing there, leaning against the staircase railing, in a white, pressed suit.  He'd told Stuart that they were going on a picnic and promptly raised a whicker basket in his arms.

          So, the very next minute, they were at a park, eating finger sandwiches.  This really wouldn't have been so very odd if people had stared at them.  Or if Stuart was wearing his normal dark brown casual suit.  Instead, he had donned a long forest green walking dress that came just above his ankles and had tons of ruffles.  It really was more of an evening gown but he didn't seem to mind.

          Stuart reached up to finger the bushy feathers sticking out of his dark green hat that was just a bit off-center.  It really was rather nice weather and all, and the green seemed to compliment his hair.  Although he really had no idea why - green had always made him look like a leprechaun.

          "It's a nice day, isn't it?"

          Edward nodded and raised a sandwich to Stuart's mouth, feeding him.  It really was a rather nice day, and Edward really was in a rather odd - but nice - mood.  And that bright pink butterfly that just landed on Stuart's nose really was rather pretty.  It all seemed so very, very surreal.  "I wish days were always like this."  Edward nodded and fed Stuart more sandwiches.

          The redhead smiled and leaned back, glancing up at the willow branches around them.  Suddenly, Hugh peaked his head into the cage-like enclosure the two were in and waved to Stuart.  He walked over to the two and sat down, then proceeded to eat some of the sandwiches.

          "Oh, hello Hugh."

          "Konnichiwa."

          "Eh?  Edward, what does that mean?"

          "It sounds Asian."

          Stuart nodded and looked at Hugh again, "Have you been learning Asian?"

          The brunette shook his head, "Iie."

          "Oh, oh, what does that mean, Edward?"

          "How should I know?"

          Hugh smiled and stood up, bowing to the two, "Ja ne."  He disappeared behind the leaves, leaving Stuart rather baffled.  He shrugged and lay down onto the grass, closing his eyes.

          "Brat."

          "Eh?"  Stuart's eyes opened slowly.  "What, what is it?"  He sat up, rubbing his fists against his eyes, "What happened?"

          Edward moved over to him and sat down on one side, a cigarette in his mouth, "You've been asleep for awhile now.  Get up."

          "Gomen ne, Yuki..."  Wait... where had that come from?  Since when did he speak Asian?  Or call Edward 'Yuki'?

          Edward shrugged and leaned back against the couch.  He closed his eyes, letting a trail of smoke exit his mouth.  Stuart's eyes opened a bit more and he glanced around the room.  Well, he wasn't home.  At least, not the home he was used to.  The room was rather minimal - a couple paintings on the wall (rather tasteless ones in his opinion), one or two pieces of furniture, and a beige box sitting on a rather short table.  "I wonder... what's the use of such a short table?"

          "What?"

          "Ah, never mind."

          "Hn..."

          This didn't even look like a normal place.  Part of him had a rather strong urge to go explore this weird building, the other wanted to sit and smell Edward's cigarette smoke.

          "I'm going to go look around."  He glanced at Edward and, seeing no change in expression, stood and walked out of the room and into a hallway.  Hm... Still rather odd.  He peeked into each one of the rooms, seeing the most minimal amount of furniture possible.  Was the person who lived here poor?  Even his family had more furniture than this, and it certainly was much more decorative.  All of these pieces looked so... average.  Obviously this wasn't Edward's house.  And there was another one of those strange boxes, only that one was black.

          "Stuart..."

          "Huh?  Yuki?"  He turned, not noticing the usage of the other name, "Is that you?"

          "Stuart..."  The redhead moved forward to see where the sound was coming from and felt a sudden drowsy, heavy feeling come over him.  He fell forward, curling up on the floor, feeling no urgent reason to open his eyes or even move.

          Timothy smiled, holding a feather he'd pulled from one of the beds, and tickled Stuart's nose a bit.  "Stuart, wake up."  The redhead turned his head away, moving a hand to bat away the feather, "I know that you're awake."

          He mumbled something incoherent and opened his eyes a bit, glancing up at Timothy, "That dream again..."

          "A dream?  Oh, what about?"

          Stuart shook his head and rolled onto his side, facing Timothy.  The younger man shrugged and slid the feather into his vest pocket.  He was very, very tired.  And that dream had really confused him - was he wearing a dress?  A green dress... or was it blue?  Had Hugh been in there?  He really couldn't remember anymore, he just knew that he'd had the dream several times before and that it was rather odd.  And why was Edward kneeling before him?  Edward never woke him up... Stuart would always wake up just five minutes or so before he was supposed to be somewhere and then rush out of the house.  Usually Edward wasn't even up when Stuart was.

          "What was your dream about?"  Edward was never interested in his dreams.  He wondered if the man even knew he did dream.  Stuart glanced up at the man in front of him and shook his head again.  He couldn't talk very well this early; it felt like there was cotton wool in his mouth.

          Timothy could tell Stuart wasn't all there.  Who could, really?  His eyes were half-lidded and he couldn't even find the strength to form words yet.  Plus, the room was dark.  Timothy grinned - the room was dark, Stuart had already confused him with his brother, and he wasn't even quite awake yet.  Therefore, this meant one thing.

          The perfect opportunity!  And Timothy was never one to pas up a good chance when it arose.  He leaned forward, cupping Stuart's chin in his hand.  "Hn?"  Stuart's eyes opened just a little, trying to focus.  If Timothy was going to do this he'd better do it fast.  The only reason he really wanted to kiss Stuart was he figured that he'd know what Reece tasted like if he did.  Something sweet - maybe a sweet fruit.  A strawberry, perhaps?  Maybe a peach. 

          He tilted Stuart's face towards him and leaned closer, pausing just a few centimeters from his mouth.  He could definitely tell why Edward liked this particular boy so much - he was intoxicating.  Timothy's eyes slid closed and he moved to seal the small space between them.

          "Ahem."

          "Geh!"  Timothy fell back, hitting his shoulders on the table behind him.

          "You're awake rather early today, Timothy."

          "So are you..."

          "Yes, well," He rose a cigarette to his mouth and took in a deep breath, "You aren't exactly quiet when you wake up.  I believe 'damned hell' was your choice of words?  What did you do, anyway?"

          "Stubbed my toe..."

          "I see.  Well, I'll leave you be then."  Edward exited the room and disappeared down the hall.  Timothy sighed and turned his gaze to Stuart, ready to try again.  Unfortunately for him, Stuart was already wide awake and sitting up, clutching his pillow protectively.

          "I shouldn't have to worry about you when I'm asleep!  What will it take for you to leave me alone?"

          "Just one taste is all I ask..."  Timothy moved forward but paused as the rather loud sound of a door being slammed stopped him.  "Alright, well maybe something else will do."

          "Name it."

          He leapt forward, grabbing hold of Stuart's arms, "Introduce me to Reece!  Please won't you?  I want to meet him so badly and if you introduce us then perhaps..."

          "Oh is that all?"  Stuart smiled, "Well that isn't any problem.  He'd love to meet you."

          "Re-really?"

          He nodded, "He loves meeting any of his fans.  How about... next time you visit, I'll introduce you two.  I don't think there's enough time for me to arrange it on the spur of the moment, but if I had enough notice..."

          "Oh thank you!"  Timothy pulled Stuart towards him and kissed his cheek, then released the redhead and ran out of the room.  He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.

          "He's much more different than Mr. Young."

          After the teenager left the room, Stuart had stumbled into Edward's office, bugging him about whether or not he'd eaten breakfast, and then run into the kitchen to fix sausages.  It occurred to him at some point that Edward really, really needed a cook, but he got past that when Timothy snuck into the room and stole three pieces of the cooked meat, then ran out.

          Eventually Stuart managed to get six pieces ready, put three of them on a plate and slid it under Edward's door, ate the other three, and ran out of the house.  He was supposed to meet at Savage Publishing to see about the third addition to the troupe.  However, just in Stuart-like fashion, he managed to underpay the carriage driver and run away from the screams.

          "Sorry!  Put it on my tab!  Even if it is several pounds..."  The redhead coughed and continued running to the front door, tugging on his tie all the while.  He was certain he was late - he always was.  He hadn't checked the grandfather clock before he'd left the house, though, so it wasn't for certain.  However - Edward was up, so it must mean that he'd overslept.

          "Ah, s-sir, wait a minute!"  Stuart shook his head quickly, ignoring the soft voice in his head (he later thought that it sounded a lot like Mr. Savage's voice only a bit younger).  Instead, he collided with something soft that seemed to have a lot of... limbs.

          And of course, in Stuart-like fashion, he fell over on top of the soft limb...y thing, pinning the poor whatever-it-was to the ground.  "Oof!" 

          "Sir, could you please - "

          "Ah!  I'm so sorry; I wasn't looking where I was going!"  Stuart pushed himself off the apparent young man and went around picking up his scattered papers.

          "Well, I was trying to warn you but you didn't seem to be listening..." he sat up, grabbing at other papers; "Oh now I'm going to be really late... he hates it when I'm late."

          "You and me both."

          The black haired man stared at the other man, a questioning look on his face.  Were they talking about the same person...?  He shook his head quickly and pulled his papers from the other person's hands, shoving them in with the others, "I'll have such a time getting this reorganized..."

          "I really am sorry."

          "Ah, that's alright."  He stood, pulling the man before him up with him, "No harm done to the body, right?"

          "That's right."  Stuart stepped away and made a move for the door.  Unfortunately, at the same time, the other man tried to get inside.  They glanced at each other, then at their shoulders wedged together inside the doorway, "Eheh... after you."

          "Oh, no, after you."

          "No, I insist."  He nodded and stepped in past Stuart, hurrying to the grand staircases.  The lobby of Savage Publishing was a very lavish place.  Marble floors covered with bright red angora rugs that bore the Savage symbol (a large snake in the form of an 's' inside a circle of words "writing, achievement, striving for excellence.").  On either side of the glass doors leading inside were secretaries with type writers and stacks of papers on their desks.  Next to their desks, doors leaded into offices.  Two sets of stairs in the middle of the lobby curved inward and lead to the second floor and to more offices.  Thomas's office was in the second floor, down two hallways and two the left of the end of the stairs.

          Stuart ran over to the left staircase, glancing over occasionally at the black haired boy running up the right set.  He paused at the top of the stairs, turning to look at the hall leading towards Thomas's office.  The other man ran past him, shouting a quick "Nice meeting you!" and running down the hall.  Stuart blinked and sped up, wondering if they were indeed meeting with the same person.

          After a couple turns he arrived at Thomas's office, along with the black haired boy who was panting rather heavily and leaning against the wood grain.  "Ah... I... made it."

          "Sir?"

          "Ah!"  He turned quickly, facing Stuart, "You too?  Then that must - oh, you're Stuart Shubrook aren't you?"

          "How did you know?"

          "Allow me to introduce myself."  The boy shifted his papers to one arm and extended his free hand to Stuart, "I'm Frederick Sullivan.  I'm the new - "

          "There you are!"  The door swung open, revealing the tall, crazed blonde man otherwise known as - 

          "Mr. K!"

          "You're late!  So are you - Sullivan, I'm guessing."

          "Ah, yes, we... ran into some problems at the entrance, sir."

          "Of course!  I don't think Thomas likes it when you're late.  Believe me," he leaned in to eye level with the two and lowered his voice, "I know."

          "Don't scare them, Mr. K."

          "Speak of the devil..."  K straightened and placed his hands on his hips, smiling, "Look who just showed up!"

          "I see that.  Mr. Shubrook, Mr. Sullivan, please come in."  He pushed K aside and let the two step into the office.

          Stuart sighed - he really was late.  Mr. Saunders was slumped against one of the chairs, drool sliding down one side of his mouth (although he was certain that wasn't a good thing).  Hugh was leaning against a wall, arms crossed, watching the man twitch.  Stuart lowered his head and walked into the room, feeling the tense annoyance weigh on his shoulders.  "I'm sorry that I'm late."

          "As am I!  Thom - "

          "What did I tell you, Mr. Sullivan?"  Thomas walked past his desk and sat down in the large leather chair.

          "Mr. Savage.  I was busy gathering my papers and then I ran into Mr. Shubrook outside."

          "Couldn't you have saved conversation for later?"

          "Well..."

          "He means it literally, Mr. Savage."  Stuart took the chair next to his former manager, "I really did... run into him."

          "Yes... and, well, he helped me get my papers together and - "

          "Mr. Sullivan, you really do need to buy a briefcase.  Now then.  Down to business.  Mr. K, please sit."  The manager glanced around the room and settled on the chair next to Hugh.  The brunette sighed and sprinted over to Stuart - well, as slowly as he possible could - and sat down in the chair next to him.  "I see I'll need to buy more chairs.  You may stand for now, Mr. Sullivan."  He leaned forward, clearing his throat, "I see that you and Mr. Shubrook have already met, that makes my job a bit easier.  Mr. Shubrook, Mr. Norris," he looked to each of them in turn, "Mr. Sullivan is the new addition to your troupe."

          Smiling faintly, Thomas eased into the back of the chair, clasping his hands on his desk.  Hugh and Stuart exchanged glances, and then glanced at Mr. Sullivan, "You are...?"

          "I was going to tell you, Mr. Shubrook - "

          "Please, call me Stuart.  Don't call Hugh Mr. Norris, either; he's too mean for formalities."  Hugh turned his gaze to Stuart, glaring, "See?"

          Frederick smiled, "Well, call me Frederick then.  I hope that you're not too angry about this.  Mr. Savage told me you - "

          "Ahem..."

          He paused and looked at the publisher, "Excuse me... I was informed that you were angry."

          "Him, angry?  Noo..."  Stuart stole a glance at Hugh, pouting.  The brunette simply raised his hands and smiled.

          "I was... a bit annoyed.  But I'm alright now."

          Hugh cupped a hand near his mouth and coughed, sounding much like he was trying to say 'liar.'

          "Be careful, Hugh, you might have a cold coming on."

          A voice sounded out from the left side of the room, near Thomas's desk.  The collective group - minus Mr. Saunders - turned to see Mr. K standing on his chair, pistol raised, "Now then!  Mr. Savage has us here for a reason.  I don't know about you, but I'd rather not spend my afternoon stuck in here listening to arguments over Mr. Shubrook's anger management problems - "

          "_That's _calling the kettle black."

          " - THEREFORE let's be quiet and listen to Mr. Savage."  He flipped the safety off his gun to get his point across.  The rest of the occupants nodded quickly and faced Thomas, stricken looks on their faces.

          "Thank you, Mr. K.  As you know, I'm not going to change my mind about Mr. Sullivan," he looked at Stuart, "So; I want you all to get to know each other.  I made reservations for you all at the restaurant down the street.  Unfortunately, I can't join you so you'll be on your own.  Mr. K," he glanced at his employee, "I trust you can keep them under control."

          "Of course!"

          "Good.  Now, the reservations are for 11:30 and it's..." he pulled a pocket watch from his vest pocket, "11:20, so I trust you'll be on your way."  Stuart, Hugh, and Mr. K stood and walked towards the door, leaving Frederick and Mr. Saunders near Thomas.  "Mr. Saunders."  Thomas stood and leaned forward, shaking the agent's shoulder.  He grunted a bit in his comatose state and stirred a bit.  "Mr. Saunders!"

          "Geh!  Right away, Mr. Savage, of course, it's no problem, I'll - " he paused, his eyes adjusting to the light.  Quickly he slid his glasses up and looked at his employer, "Oh... eheh... hello, Mr. Savage."

          "Your companions are leaving without you."  He gestured to the open door and Frederick who was waiting for the agent.

          "Oh, well, they do that a lot."

          "They're doing it right now.  I trust you'll leave with them?"

          He nodded slowly and stood, nodding to the publisher, "Right then."  Mr. Saunders turned and stumbled over to Frederick.  He blinked, looking at him disgusted, "Who are you?"

          "I'll explain to you at lunch, Mr. Saunders."

          "We're going to lunch?"  Frederick nodded and led the bewildered agent out of the room and down the hall.

          Edward's study was always dark.  There was a large tree on one side, and the tall window in the front of the room had its curtains drawn.  Edward himself liked dark places - he tended to keep the draperies shut in his bedroom and guest bedroom and had usually kept the parlor dark as well.  Stuart, however, was prone to going about the house and pulling open the curtains to let light in.  'It's better for your eyes' he said.

          The writer also preferred candlelight to electricity.  He kept kerosene lamps in his office and used candles about the house.  It was only because of his sister's nagging that he'd gotten electricity in the first place.  He only used it when she, or Timothy, visited.  Right now, Timothy was visiting, and the lights were on almost constantly.  What with Stuart creeping into the study before Edward woke and throwing open the curtains and Timothy running around each room flicking light switches, Edward could never find peace.  He had slept in his study that night - locking himself in and going to sleep on his chase lounge.

          However, a few minutes after Stuart had left, he'd unlocked the door and crept out to use the bathroom and dodge Timothy.  His younger brother watched from the dining room as the man went upstairs.  He nodded once and ran down the hall and into Edward's study.  He was a man on a mission - a mission of great importance.

          You see, Timothy had a problem.  A very, very big problem.  He had to bring his only brother - his father's secret pride and pain in the back - back home.  Now, he'd promised Edward he wouldn't bug him about it, but he'd lied.  It shouldn't surprise Edward - the teenager took lying as a second language.  He into a corner between the windows and willed himself to blend in.  A few minutes later Edward came in, a cup of tea in hand (most likely laced with some sort of alcohol, Timothy guessed), and shut the door behind him.

          "Edward."

          He started, snapping his gaze to the corner Timothy was standing in, "What do you want?"

          "Edward, I need to talk to you.  It's very important."

          "Hmph.  Everything is important to you."  The writer turned and walked towards his desk, setting the china cup down on the wood, "Well, get on with it."

          "Now, I don't want you to get angry at me until you understand my situation."  Timothy followed his brother and stood on the opposite side of the desk, "You need to come home with me."

          "I thought I told you not to talk to me about this!"  Edward reached for the metal box of cigarettes, pulling one out and placing it in his mouth.  He didn't light it - he still didn't have matches.

          "I know, I did!  But I lied.  You know me better than to believe me when I say something."

          "You have a point there."

          "Edward, I understand why you won't come back, I can sympathize with you, and in any other circumstance I wouldn't ask this of you, but you have to come back!  Even if it's just for this weekend and never again, you need to - "

          "I'll do nothing of the sort.  There's absolutely no reason for me to return."

          "Dammit, Edward!"  Timothy brought his hand down on the wood grain, causing the glass on the table to rattle.  Edward raised a slim eyebrow at his younger brother and moved to sit down in his chair.  "Listen to me before you say that!"

          "It's already arranged that you'll take over for father, not me.  I have no reason to go back."

          "Can't you at least do it for father?  He's lonely, Edward."

          "He has you."

          "He doesn't want me, I'm the last son!  You're the first born son, you're the special one.  When you left he was beside himself.  It's partly your fault for all his health problems."

          "I really don't care.  He could be screaming curses on my name on his death bed and I still wouldn't care."

          "You're impossible!"  Timothy turned, running a hand through his hair.  "If you won't do it for him, then do it for me."  He turned back abruptly and brought his hands down on the desk again, "Please, Edward!  You have to!"

          "What does it matter to you?"

          "It matters everything to me!  Edward, I didn't leave to beg you for father's sake.  I left to beg you for my sake."

          "Decided against being a priest, hm?  I always knew you'd back out someday."

          "No!  He - "  The teen sighed, "He said if I didn't come back with you that he'd send me to a monastery."

          "A monastery!  That's absurd, he'd never do that.  We don't have any ties to a monastery.  We own that church, not a monastery."

          "Don't you think I told him that?  He said he didn't care - he'd find some nephew to head it."

          "Huh, a monastery..."  Edward leaned back in his chair, chewing on the end of the cigarette, "I can't imagine you with a bald head, walking around chanting.  It'd be funny, actually."

          "Be serious here!  I'm not cut out for being a monk.  A priest I can handle, I've been told I'd be a priest almost all my life; I've been brought up to be one.  But not a monk, Edward.  Just come back with me, just for this one time.  He never said you had to stay, just that you had to show up."

          "I can't go back there..."

          "I'm your brother, dammit!  You care for your brother, you're supposed to drop everything and say 'yes, I'll help you.'  Stop being so damned selfish!"

          "Me, selfish..."

          Timothy nodded furiously and leaned forward on the desk, "You're the most selfish person I've ever known!"

          "Of course.  What if I refuse to go with you?"

          "Then I'll hate you for the rest of my life.  And when I die, I'll haunt you.  And if you die first, I'll guarantee you won't have a peaceful rest!"

          "Aren't monks supposed to be non-violent?"

          "Monks aren't, but I'm not a monk!"

          "Not yet."

          Timothy clenched his fists.  He should have expected such a response from Edward - but one never knew, really.  Some days his brother was cooperative, other days he was an ass.  Today he seemed to be an ass with something _up _his ass.  The teenager reared his arm back and lunged forward.  The soft sound of flesh hitting flesh resonated throughout the room.  He watched the normally passive writer look up in shook and raise a slim hand to touch the red mark on his cheek.  Timothy shut his eyes, waiting for Edward to stand and hit back.  He always hit back.

          "Timothy..."

          "I don't care!  If you're not coming back then I'll just have to go in hiding!  Run away; never tell anyone where I go.  Maybe I'll live in a grass hut in the French countryside."

          Edward lowered his gaze to Timothy's hands.  When they were younger, the brothers had gotten into fights.  They'd hit each other, screaming, only to be pulled apart by their sister or one of the priests.  They were always stupid fights - who got the last apple slice, which was at fault for something.  And their hits had never had malice behind them; they were never hard enough to actually hurt.  But this... this was the first time Timothy had ever hit him with such force - Edward could feel the anger and pure rage radiating from the teen.  He closed his eyes.  He really had hurt him.

          "I'll go."

          "And I don't care if - what?"  The black haired boy opened his eyes and looked down at his brother.  "Did, do you say - "

          "I'll go.  When do you leave?"

          "I have tickets to leave this Friday evening."

          Edward took a deep breath and stood, "Do I just visit?"  Timothy nodded, "Alright.  I'll make arrangements to leave with you.  And Timothy,"  Edward opened his eyes, "Don't tell him."

          "'Him'?  Who - Stuart?"  Edward closed his eyes again, "But wouldn't he be - "

          "Just, don't tell him."

          Timothy sighed and nodded, "Alright.  Thank you Edward..."  He smiled and turned, walking out of the room.  Edward opened his eyes and glanced out the window at the tree in the side yard.  Stuart would be worried, but... Thomas had a point; Edward had been with the boy for far too long.  It was time he'd given up their childish game and moved on.

~-~

*is heard in the back room strangling Yuki*


	15. Chapter 14

Notes:

* shrug* I'm two months late.  Oh well.  I'll do better next time…I hope.  No promises though.  I've decided that I'm half-way through the story – I don't want to make it as long as I previously expected, but it'll still be long.  I'd say… I have 10-15 more chapters to go, depending on how well this thing falls into place.  I won't take two month breaks again between chapters, though.  I was going through midterms.  They're evil.

Oh, and I'm sorry it's short.  I was too eager to get the damned thing out and I couldn't really force myself to add anymore to the chapter.

Thanks to:

Everyone who reviewed.  Especially Lady Miaka, my 100th reviewer.

And now…

**__**

**_Roses_**

~-~-~-~-~-~

Chapter 14

~-~-~-~-~-~

            _The clock strikes nine, sharp tones resonating throughout the house, bouncing off the stone walls.  Five days previous her lover had departed, sent to _

            "Sent to what?"  Edward placed a hand on the page and made a fist, crumpling the yellowed paper into a ball.  "You write absolutely useless openings."  He grunted and threw the paper across the room.  He was going off his break at the end of the week and needed to come up with some sort of story.  However, every idea that crossed his mind fell short.  He just couldn't come up with the right opening.

            "Perhaps…

            "Perhaps not."

            _She wasn't privileged.  Her father was a poor farmer, her mother a wench who'd been stupid enough to marry him.  She hadn't a pence to her name - her rags and hard working, calloused hands were the only things she owned._

            "Hmm… that might work."  He nodded leaned forward, looking over the first few sentences, "I'll see where this goes…"

            An hour or so later he was lost.  Well, lost in his mind.  He'd rewritten the opening a couple more times, but all-in-all was rather pleased with the outcome.  Nothing was going wrong.  Timothy was off doing God-knows-what (but Edward could've cared less) and Stuart was off with Lord-knows-who.  Edward was in his own little world, full of words and terms and grammatical rules and characters with so many personality problems that each one needed full time psychiatric help.  To put it lightly - he was home there.

            He didn't honestly hate him.  Not really.  He was just very annoyed with his good presentation and calm manner and how he sounded just as feminine as the publisher did.  No, he didn't honestly hate him.  He just had a very strong dislike for the boy.

            Not only did he have a perfect presentation but Hugh seemed to like him!  One of those 'well, you must admit, he is rather talented' likes that made Stuart's skin crawl.  Who cared if he was talented?  If he was going to steal some of Stuart's thunder then he certainly wasn't a good person!  So, it shouldn't be of any surprise that he'd abruptly left the luncheon on the grounds that 'he wasn't feeling well.'  Neither should be surprising that he'd said "and a good _day_ to you, **s_ir_**_._" to Frederick. 

            At the moment, Stuart was stomping around downtown with a sneer and a rather bad aura about him.  He was certain he'd reach the market street soon, then he could buy some matches and steal one of Edward's cigarettes to have a smoke, even if he did hate the vile taste that they left in his mouth.

            "Martha!  Martha, fetch me my robe."  Marianne Savage was in a rather… foul mood.  She'd woken up to a cold room, no lights, no Thomas, and no drugs.  Not to mention the fact that all the feathers in her mattress had shifted to the left side.  "Martha, hurry up you stupid cow!"

            Martha was a very docile, dull, and dreary girl.  Thomas had hired her to replace his wife's previous maid – a girl named Beth – who'd come down with a sudden cold and died.  Martha had only been on the job for a week or so and hadn't learned to be psychic yet.  All the servants in the Savage household were psychic except for her.  They knew exactly what Marianne wanted before she wanted it and had it ready and presented to her at the exact moment she wanted it.  Martha was one minute late.

            "I'm very sorry, miss!"  The poor girl hurried to her employer and gave a quick bow, "I washed your robes last night and was fetching them downstairs – "

            "You washed my robes?  Good heavens, girl, what on earth are you thinking?"  Marianne snatched the clothing item from her and lifted it, inspecting, "You have no idea how to wash clothing.  Honestly, what was he thinking when he hired you?  I told him, let me inspect every employee."

            "I'm very sorry, miss!  I – I didn't know how you wanted it washed, I – "

            "Don't you know anything about the proper way to wash silk?"

            Martha lowered her head, shaking it, "I'll… I'll go get my things, miss." 

            "Wonderful, another one.  Girl, girl get back here."  The maid paused and looked back at Marianne, "I did not fire you.  If I fire you I'll say 'go pack your things.'"

            "Yes miss." Martha nodded and turned to leave again.

            "You bloody idiot… I didn't tell you to go!"

            "Yes miss."

            "This is just the problem with you maids."  She slipped the bathrobe on over her under garments and shuddered, "Awful cleaning.  Do better next time."

            "Yes miss – wait, next time?"

            "On second thought… ask Ms. Wells to do it.  You can't wash for the life of you.  As I was saying, this is the problem with you maids."  She turned and swished the robe behind her, paused, and nodded in satisfaction, "Well at least it has a nice swish."

            "Thank you miss."

            "Did I tell you to speak?"

            "No miss!"

            "As I was saying… that's just the problem with you maids.  You're always so bloody compliant.  No will of your own.  Beth, now she was a maid.  She had some wits about her.  Of course, she had so much wits that she went and got herself dead."

            "Yes, miss."

            "Now, Martha.  I intend not to have to go through the ordeal of hiring another maid anytime soon.  So make sure you don't get yourself sick and die."

            "Yes, miss.  I'll try my best not to die."

            "Good." Marianne paused, testing out the phrase her maid had just repeated to her in her mind, and shook her head.  "Stupid."

            "Pardon me, miss?"

            "Stupid girl, go fetch my breakfast.  What is it, 8 already and I haven't eaten?"

            "11, miss."

            "That's even worse!  Get my breakfast already!"

            "Yes, miss." She nodded quickly and practically ran out of the room.  Martha did have to admit one thing – her employer certainly was interesting.  A bit mad, but interesting.

            "Why, Stuart!"

            "Hello, Mr. Avery…"  For around ten minutes, Stuart stomped around the market place.  He sneered at the produce sellers who had week-old fruits and vegetables that were already starting to rot.  He bought and threw those said vegetables at said sellers and then ran away rather quickly to avoid having them thrown back.  He threw left-over vegetables at rogue cars whose drivers were stupid enough to go gallivanting around the marketplace street.  And then, when he was out of vegetables, he threw his shoe at a police man and ran like hell.  Stuart, at the moment, was fairly certain there was glass in his foot; and really didn't care.

            "Stuart, uh…" Mr. Avery coughed gracefully and looked down at the teenager's feet, "What happened to – "

            "Don't ask.  Please, just… don't ask."

            "Well, alright then.  What can I get you today?"

            "Matches."

            The shopkeeper coughed, again, only a little less gracefully and with a little more 'are you drunk or just insane.'

            "Are you sure, Stuart?"

            "Yes, Mr. Avery."

            "Don't you want to look around, maybe… have some candy?  Or maybe some sugar?"

"Mr. Avery.  I really don't think sugar is the best thing to sell me."

            "Oh, right."  He lowered his hands to his apron and wiped a bit of dirt from them, "Well, what do you need matches for?"

            "Cigarettes."

            "You smoke now?  Isn't that fashionable."

            "No.  Those things are awful.  Mr. Young smokes."  Stuart turned his gaze to the candies on the counter, feeling his bad mood drain away at the site of the glazed sugar.

            "Mr. Young…?"

            "The writer I'm… staying with."

            "Oh, yes, the _writer_."  Mr. Avery had a very select opinion about writers and poets and actors – they were all insane.  Stuart especially, being both a poet and an actor.  Oh, he'd heard all about that boy moving in with the romance author just a short while after they'd met.  And he'd heard _all_ about how he'd go on and on about him.  And he'd certainly heard more than he wanted about how his mother was just certain her boy was one of those 'homosexual folks.'  He really hoped the Stuart wasn't going to get sent to an asylum.  He really was a nice boy, just not quite right in the head.

            "Could I have a piece of hard candy too?"

            "Of course."  Mr. Avery smiled and turned, pulling a box of matches from the shelf behind him.  "Help yourself."  The bell leading into the store jingled softly in the background.  He looked up, glancing at the customer.

            Stuart nodded quickly and yanked the glass covering off the jar.  He held out one hand, containing a few shillings, and fished out a couple candies from the jar.  The shopkeeper gathered the money and dropped the box of matches into Stuart's open hand.  "I do hope you come by more often, Stuart."

            He nodded, smiling and popping one of the candies into his mouth, "Sure!"

            "Homme stupide!  Là où il a de telles idées?!(1)" Timothy grumbled, entering the outskirts of the market square.  "He lives with him and yet he won't tell him he's leaving!  How inconsiderate."  

            He really couldn't understand it.  Edward was an eccentric man, he understood that, and Timothy could never guess what was going on in his brother's head.  But this new relationship his brother had baffled him.  On one hand, he'd always suspected that Edward was a bit insane, and he'd always looked at the younger priests oddly when they were children, but Timothy never would of guessed he was _that_ insane.

            And on top of all this new information, Edward expected Timothy to lie.  He was a priest and priests did not lie.  He was even expected to be the head priest when his father passed away.  Head priests do not lie and they certainly are not related to insane people.  Although, there was always Uncle Maxwell, but he was on his mother's side and disowned long ago.  They only mentioned Uncle Maxwell when everyone was in bad spirits.

            The funny thing was Edward wanted him to lie to his lover - to his male lover, who was also insane.  Perhaps it wasn't wrong to lie to an insane person?  But then he could always lie to Edward and tell Stuart anyway. No - no matter how insane they are, one must not lie to their brother.  He didn't want to hurt Stuart's feelings, though.  Timothy was positive that he himself was a bit insane, but he didn't want to admit it yet.  Maybe if he met Reece Swift - Timothy tripped over a pebble at the thought of the celebrity - he'd denounce his sanity.  But that was only if he met Reece.

            Oh, but didn't Stuart say he'd introduce him to Reece?  Didn't he know him?  But, then, he owed Stuart a favor.  And when you owe someone a favor you should not lie to them unless you need to stall the favor.  Timothy nodded to himself and stopped walking.  "That settles it.  I won't lie to either of them.  If Stuart asks me anything, I'll just keep my mouth shut."  The black haired man nodded and turned his gaze to the door he'd stopped in front of.

            The glass was foggy and rippled like crackled tissue paper.  It was set in cheap pinewood - smaller stores did not generally have wood better than that.  Near the middle of the door, red bold painted letters read "Mr. Avery's" and then smaller script "General Store" just below it.  Timothy tapped his chin lightly and peered inside the door.  Fuzzy figures lingered inside - three, maybe four people at most.  It wasn't a large store, from what he could tell.  Just large enough for baking needs and various premade foods.  Well, Edward wouldn't want him to come back into the house for a few hours yet - knowing his brother he'd be busy writing something and would be very sour if someone interrupted him.  And knowing himself, Timothy would not be able to go to his home and not disturb him.  Thus, he pushed the door inward and stepped inside.

            The scent of lard and sugar hit him, laying heavily on his senses.  Timothy moved a hand to cover his nose – he'd never liked those smells.  He preferred cinnamon and oranges – even though he rarely came in contact with either.  He glanced towards a young woman looking at the prices on the flour, shaking her head.  By the looks, she wasn't well endowed, probably had a large family and not enough money for herself much less her children.  Shrugging, the priest turned his gaze to the counter where the – he guessed – shopkeeper and some Scottish, or Irish – he could never tell the difference by looking at them, boy was standing, buying something.  He stretched his neck out, trying to see what he had – matches and candy.  What an odd combination.  Timothy snickered behind his hand – that boy reminded him of Stuart.  He was Scottish or Irish, wasn't he?  And Edward always went on about how he needed to get him matches.

            "Stuart…?"  The boy paused and turned his head to the side, letting Timothy see his face.  So it was Stuart!  What a perfect coincidence.  "Stuart!  It is you!"  The priest smiled and went over to him, pulling the poor red-head towards him in a bear hug.  "I thought so!  How many Irish live in Britain anyway?"

            "I'm not Irish!"  Stuart grabbed his assaulter's arms and tried to pull them off, "Timothy?  Get off!  Let go!"

            "Edward doesn't want either of us back in the house for awhile, lets go off somewhere and have fun!"

            The shopkeeper coughed, watching the display before him.  That settled it – that kind, sweet boy was most definitely insane.  And he was being assaulted by another insane person; someone who knew the insane writer Stuart was living with.  Oh, he would have to tell Mrs. Shubrook, certainly.

            "A… friend of yours, Stuart?"

            "M-Mr. Avery!  Get him off, please!"

The poor, homely woman who Timothy had previously pegged as poor tip-toed over to the two, screamed at Stuart, and dropped the flour she was holding.  "You, again!  Oh, is this hell I'm in?" 

            "Who's that, Stuart?"  Timothy loosened his grip just a bit and looked at the woman.

            "How should I know?"  The young poet took this opportunity to shove Timothy's arms off and duck to the edge of Mr. Avery's counter.  The woman just kept pointing at him.

            "Of course, how would you recognize me?  You were too busy snogging my old employer!"

            "Oh, you're Mr. Young's maid!"

            "Correction, I was Mr. Young's maid.  'Was' thanks to you!"  She indignantly placed her hands on her hips, glaring at him.

            "Well you probably would have died from shock if you'd stayed anyway, so I suppose it's for the best."

            "What – why you… you…" The former maid rose a hand to her head and stumbled back, "I – sir, I'd like to buy this."  She knelt down and picked up the flour, then plopped it onto Mr. Avery's counter.

            "Oh!  Of course…" he lifted the bag and weighed it.

            "And another thing, you had best be happy that Mr. Young's friend was kind enough to inform me not to tell anyone of your little scene.  Why, it was simple scandalous!  It'd be in all the papers if I had told just one person!"

            "Very smart man, that Thomas is."  Timothy nodded to himself and stepped over to Stuart, waiting for an opening to cling to him again.

            "Yes, well – "

            "Your flour, ma'am."

            "Oh!  Put it on the family's tab, please."  Mr. Avery nodded and handed her the bag of flour.  "If you had never shown up, I'd still be working for Mr. Young!  He was a very calm employer – never asked me to do anythi – "

            "Is that all, ma'am?"  Mr. Avery's strained smile shrank for a second, then resumed its usual friendly manner.

            "Oh… yes, yes it is thank you."

            "You'd best be on your way, then."  She took the flour from his hands and stormed out of the shop.  Stuart stared after her, a baffled expression on his face.  Mr. Avery sighed and turned to Stuart, starting to say something.  Unfortunately for him, and Stuart, Timothy was very alert to the situation and sprang into action – clinging to Stuart for dear life and squeezing the air out of him.

            "Say, let's go get drunk and have some fun, what do you say Stuart?"

            The redhead turned various shades of red, then blue, and finally settled on purple.  All the while he had the dignity to look indignant.  "I-I think… not!"

            "Sir, I believe you're giving Stuart quite a time breathing there."

            "Oh, sorry Stuart."  Timothy released his grip and took a step back, "What say you?  Shall we go then?"

            "Uh… I think I need to get these – " he rose the pack of matches "to Mr. Young."

            "You're no fun.  He can last awhile without them."

            "Well… I'd like to get them to him just the same."  Stuart turned to Mr. Avery and nodded to him, "I'm sorry for the disturbance, Mr. Avery."

            "Oh that's quite alright."  I'll have plenty to tell your mother, he did not say.

            "Thank you."  Stuart nodded to Timothy and hurried out of the store, hoping that he'd get up enough speed to avoid him for at least a few blocks.

            "Oh, Stuart wait up!"  The man turned and ran after the teenager.

            "He certainly has interesting friends."  The shopkeeper smiled and shook his head.

~-~

Mr. Avery's cool… the maid sucks, though.  Lets go kick her.

(1) Stupid man!  Where does he get such ideas?  


	16. Chapter 15

I am a week late!  But IIIIIIIIIIII don't care.  I was busy.  I had no internet.  I wrote this chapter in one day.  Blah blah blah.  And to make up for it, this is two pages longer than usual!

I have decided that KxHiro does not work at all in this story.  I have also decided that Natalie/Hugh does work.  (nod)  So… yeah.

No deadlines this time, because I know I won't stick to them.  I'll get it out, I won't take a month, well… 4 weeks at most.  I found out that this is the third or second longest fic in the Gravitation section!  Go me!

Thanks to everyone who reviewed!  Nice to know there's still interest in this story.  CSMars: I'll let you dream. / Crimson Glory Kai: I haven't read enough of the manga to base this off it.  And in the anime Shuichi didn't let Tatsuha kiss him, and the anime is the one I've seen.

Disclaimer: FEK!

**_Roses_**

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

_Chapter 15_

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            Edward didn't seem too pleased to have received his matches.  Well, actually, he was pleased, it's just he grabbed the box out of Stuart's hands and slammed the door in his face, muttering about a 'breakthrough.'  Stuart, having lived with Edward for the past month or so, decided it was best if he didn't press the writer for more information.  When you lived with a writer you learned fairly fast that you don't talk to them when they're muttering 'breakthrough.'

            However, Timothy must have forgotten that little fact.  After Stuart left the hall and retreated into the parlor, Timothy kicked Edward's door in, causing the writer to scream and spill his ink, ruining 5 or so pages of text.  Stuart wasn't sure what happened after that, he just saw Timothy a little later looking quite shaken and sporting a shiner.

            Needless to say, Edward was dreading his return to his father's home.  As peaceful as the setting was, he never had peace of mind enough to write.  Or maybe he had so much peace of mind that all of the voices inside his head were levitating and mumbling about the meaning of life.  He never could tell, he just knew they never did anything.  He enjoyed living in the city so much because of how frantic it was.  One could never find peace in the city, or tranquility, or a quiet place to sit.  All this combined into one big stew he liked to call 'inspiration.'  And the stew of inspiration was quite tasty.

            Not to mention at his father's home there was his father.  Oh, and Timothy.  Edward didn't know which he dreaded more – seeing his brother or seeing his father.  Deep down, he felt those nice little warm-fuzzies towards Timothy, but the fact of the matter was that the teenager was simply aggravating to the point of strangling.  Not like he could do anything about it, though.

            He had a lack of inspiration.  Papers were scattered all around the study, full of discarded poems and limericks, ballads and romance, and tons of other nonsense.  Each one of these had been dubbed 'crap,' 'useless,' 'stupid,' or 'mind-rotting' by the house's writer.  Stuart wasn't considered one of the house's writers; he was just 'the person who annoyed the writer.'  Truth be told, Stuart wasn't good at writing, not in the least.  But he had 'spunk' and all, and that seemed to be enough for him.

            Stuart sighed and glanced up at the clock.  Usually he'd run off to practice at around 1pm, finishing everything he needed to do beforehand.  At 5pm, the run-through finished and he could return home.  However, today wasn't the run-through.  It was the real thing – the performance.  He didn't have to show up until 3pm (they worked through tea-time, much to the anger of the cast).  Stuart smiled and glanced up at the clock.  It was 2:30pm.  He stretched over to the couch and pulled out his plain shoes, slipping them on, and standing up.  The auditorium was several miles away and if he wanted to get there in time he'd need to catch a carriage immediately.  

            He grabbed his jacket and ran out the door, shouting at Edward that he'd be back later and receiving a nice little 'grunt, fine' in response.

            The last few practices had been horror.  Terry, Malcolm, and Keith had most certainly had stakes up their bums; Stuart was quite sure of this.  Even after several dozen threats from the director that he'd kick them out, the trio persisted in making Stuart and Hugh's time there a living hell.  Just the previous day they'd snipped wires in Hugh's violin and replaced Stuart's costume with a woman's dress.  That had earned them a very long, flowery lecture from the director.

            Today was no different.  Apparently none of them had learned their lesson since Hugh's violin went strangely missing after he'd run off to the bathroom.  Stuart was standing in the wings, avoiding going backstage to the dressing room he shared with a few other actors.  He knew, just knew, that they'd dyed his costume some ungodly color like fuchsia or green.  Still, it wasn't like he could go backstage, for at the moment Malcolm and Keith were being lectured again and Terry was leaning against the entrance to the backstage.  While he let everyone pass without even looking up, Stuart knew he was going to trip him or something of the sort if he passed.

            "House opens in an hour!  Get your arses backstage!"  Stuart sighed and glanced over at Terry, waiting for him to move.  But he didn't.  Why?  Because he'd already gotten dressed and was just standing there with the obvious excuse of 'I am in the first scene.'

            "Stuart!  Get back stage!"  The stage manager was glaring at him, waving their hand towards the backstage entrance.

            "Uhm… couldn't I wait just a –"

            "No!"

            "Yes, sir."  So, off he went, sneaking into the backstage.  And, very surely, Terry stuck his leg out and caused Stuart to fall flat on his face.  The cackling of the cast didn't help Stuart's red face much.

            It wasn't fuchsia, or green – thank God – but it seemed just a bit snug across the chest.  Apparently they'd shrunk the costume.  Stuart sighed and pulled on the vest, looking at the darkened stage.  In just a minute or so, he'd have to go out there with the rest of the cast, sing, dance, and then sing a solo line that spanned until Malcolm ran onto the stage – always before his cue – and cut him off.

            And then, Edward was supposed to be there too.  He'd promised – Stuart had asked, and he'd said yes.  So he'd just have to be there, right?  And then that night he'd tell Stuart that he did have talent for something and it would be a very pleasant night indeed.

            Invigorated with this sudden realization, Stuart held his head up high and marched out onto stage with the rest of the group, singing along with them as loudly as possible.

            "Great job, everyone!  Don't forget, same time tomorrow!"

            Stuart ran down the wings of the stage after they'd all had a word with a director and threw off their costumes.  He'd find Edward, stand there glowing as he received praise (he hoped) and then hurry home (without Timothy, he noted with a smile).   When he looked out over the audience – which was surprisingly still full – he didn't spot Edward.  Sighing, Stuart plopped down into a seat and turned in the chair, keeping a close eye on the audience in case someone moved and revealed Edward.

He turned his gaze over to the orchestral pit to where Hugh sat.  Of course, he was gathering up his things and setting the violin into its case, each move careful and precise.  Apparently he was still shaken over the thought of losing it.  He sighed and ran a hand along the smooth wood of the case, and grabbed the handle, letting the box hang at his side.  Stuart watched as Natalie glided (he was certain that she did not walk; she glided) from her adoring fans (he noticed now that most of the audience who stayed were eager to catch a better glimpse of Natalie) to Hugh, smiling and radiating the charm she had magically inherited from whoever her parents were.  Hugh, of course, looked very flustered.

Stuart smiled.  He'd guessed that Hugh had a crush on Natalie for a while; it was very hard not to notice.  Heck, Stuart would have liked her had he liked women.  Hugh stood there, trying his very best not to stutter sentences.  Why was he so nervous today?  He'd never acted that way towards Natalie before.  Stuart leaned against the chair and continued watching as Natalie kissed his cheek (she did this to everyone) and congratulated him on a job well done.  Stuart was positive that if Hugh could turn into an apple he would have right then.

Still smiling, Stuart stood and stretched out his arms.  He decided that it was best he not watch his best friend be humiliated and instead turned to look out over the audience.  It had thinned out considerably, but he could see Mr. Savage standing near the back, talking to the director.  Edward, on the other hand, was not there.  He couldn't fool himself into thinking that the audience was blocking his view, because the audience had left.  Only a few of the cast members and orchestral crew were there, not counting Mr. Savage.  He'd seen Mr. Saunders in the audience when he was on stage, so it was best to assume that the agent had left earlier.

The redhead rushed up the aisles to Mr. Savage, pausing just a few rows behind him and slipped into a seat to listen to his conversation with the director.

"I realize that, but – "

"Thomas, I am very serious.  If you make me work with them again I will quit!  I swear it to you I shall quit!  I cannot stand them.  If you want someone to work with them, hire Durkshire, but don't make me do it again."

"I'm very sorry to have caused you such inconvenience.  Are they really that bad?"

"No, they're not.  They're worse."

Thomas sighed heavily, "I thought they were becoming a bit overconfident, but I never imagined it was that bad."

"It is."

"Very well.  I'll… have a talk with them."

"'A talk'?  Are you certain you need to do that?" Stuart noticed the director's voice pitch rose, "I-I don't think it's quite that bad!"

"I promise I won't get you involved.  Matters like these need to be dealt with accordingly.  Thank you for telling me."  The director squeaked a bit and turned, walking down the aisle past Stuart.

Mr. Savage was certainly a very, very scary man.  He'd never heard the director squeak before.  Normally the man was extremely harsh and only raised his voice when he was to the point of maiming 'Ask.'  Stuart remained extremely still, hoping that Mr. Savage wouldn't notice him sitting – "Hello, Mr. Shubrook."

"H-hello, Mr. Savage."  He swore quietly and stood, turning to face the publisher.  It was amazing how a man with such a calm face and voice could be so terrifying.

"It went rather well, wouldn't you say?"

"Oh?  Yes!  I think so too."

"Hmm…" Mr. Savage took a few steps towards Stuart and looked at him, surveying his face with quiet 'hmm's and 'I see's littered throughout his speech.  "Well, yes I believe I made a good choice.  Mr. Sullivan will be a nice addition."

"W-what?  You mean I still have to work with him?"

"Oh I'm quite positive.  You simply won't do at your current stage.  You need someone like Mr. Sullivan to help you."  Mr. Savage nodded to Stuart, tipping his hat, and started walking past him.

            Stuart blinked, standing there rather dumb-founded.  He thought he'd done a marvelous job!  And yet Mr. Savage still insisted on adding that prat to the group.  Surely he'd never insult Edward like that – wait.  Edward!

            "Mr. Savage!"

            "Hm?"

            "Uhm… did Mr. Young ever show up for the performance?"

            The publisher turned and looked at Stuart, his face drawn, "Why, no he did not.  Was he supposed to?"

            "Well… he did promise that he'd show."

            "I wouldn't rely on Edward's promises if I were you, Mr. Shubrook.  Good evening." He tipped his hat again and turned, walking towards the orchestral pit.  Stuart frowned.  He'd rely on Edward's promises just fine!  They certainly were better than Mr. Savages, even if the publisher was right.  He must have just forgotten or gotten wrapped up in his story.  And there was always tomorrow night.  Stuart nodded and ran up the aisle and out of the theatre.

            During the play it was all about the music.  All about the way the notes surrounded him and danced, about how they floated off the page when he slid his bow across the string of the violin, all about how the harmonious sound of the instruments joined together produced the most wonderful sound on earth, and how it enhanced each and every voice and scene.  He'd been positively petrified when he thought his violin was gone.  The strings being cut were bad enough, but stealing a musician's instrument was unacceptable!  Those three had certainly sunk too low.

            So he was very happy when he saw that Natalie gave them a tight smile and a nod, no kiss, and glided past them when they approached her and praised her performance.  Hugh was certain that nobody really liked those three now, since Natalie almost always gave her fans more attention than that.

            He was also extremely happy when she glided past them and towards him.  He would have looked at their faces, would have smiled with extreme dignity as he watched their faces contort and steam come from their head.  However, he was quite focused on Natalie.  He didn't like her, not really.  He just admired her greatly.  He thought, out of the whole cast and orchestra, that she had the most sense.  She certainly carried herself better than the rest of them.  It really was a pity that after this play he'd probably never get a chance to work with her.

            "Wonderful job, Mr. Norris."

            "Ah, thank you Miss Udell."  His face warmed as she gave him her standard 'good job, nice to meet you, nice seeing you again' all-purpose kiss on the cheek.

            "I think it all went rather well.  Reminds me of my days performing.  It's nice to be back doing things like this."

            "Oh!  Are you going to do more of these?"

            "Hmm…  No, no not plays.  This was a favor for Thomas."  She smiled and smoothed her dress, "I'm going to be giving a concert or two.  Thomas and I have decided there needs to be a female pianist again.  We're both restless as well."

            "I look forward to it!"  Hugh smiled and gripped the handle of his case, his palms growing increasingly sweaty.

            "Why thank you!  I do too."  She gave him a quick curtsey and took a step back, "It was nice performing with you, you and the orchestra of course." Hugh nodded, "I must be off, though."  Hugh bowed to her and moved out of her way as she crossed past him towards the other end of the auditorium.  He sighed and pulled his handkerchief from his vest pocket and dabbed his forehead and hands before replacing it back into the pocket.  Hugh glanced around the large room, looking for a sign of Stuart.  He finally spotted him, sitting a few seats away from the director and Mr. Savage, very obviously eavesdropping.

            Hugh shook his head, smiling, and moved to step out of the pit.  When he turned his gaze to the other side of the auditorium he noticed Natalie standing with an old man, he assumed her father or uncle.  But when he slid his arm around her waist and kissed her, he knew it was her husband.  Hugh's breath caught in his throat for a second, but he shook his head quickly and looked away.  It was best not to watch such intimate moments.  He hurried up the side of the auditorium, noting that Stuart was busy talking to Mr. Savage, and left the building.

            He ran the whole way home.  His sides hurt, his face was red, his breathing was short and sporadic.  But he was finally at Edward's house.  Stuart hadn't even bothered to hail a carriage, thinking somehow that he'd get there faster if he ran.  But he really shouldn't have even bothered – the lights were off and no one came to the door when he knocked.  But… Edward never went anywhere, really.  Had he been stalled when he saw Timothy off?  Stuart frowned and tried to look into the house, but the curtains were drawn and there wasn't enough light to see anything.

            That certainly wasn't a good thing.  Edward was missing; Timothy had left that evening to go home, and Mr. Savage hadn't seen him at the performance.  "Maybe… Mr. Saunders would know something?"  Well, it was worth a shot.  Mr. Saunders kept in contact with Mr. Savage, and Mr. Savage knew everything that anyone ever did before they did it.

            So, taking a deep breath and massaging his sides, Stuart took off down the street to Mr. Saunders house.  He really, really shouldn't have bothered in this case either.  Really.  Mr. Saunders was absolutely no help at all.

            "Mr. Saunders!"

            "Mr. Shubrook, what are you doing here?"  Mr. Saunders opened the door to the young man, dressed in his nightclothes.

            "Do you know where Mr. Young is?"

            "Well he's not here!"

            Stuart started to say something like 'damnit' or 'bloody hell' but he realized that the thought of Edward being at Mr. Saunders had never crossed his mind, "I know _that_.  Do you know _where_ he is?"

            "You don't?"

            "If I did do you think I would be asking you?"

            "Mr. Young is **gone?**"

            "That's what I'm saying!"

            And with that, Mr. Saunders fell over, fainted.  Stuart groaned and gave the agent a swift kick in the side, causing him to stir and open his eyes.

            "Well could you tell me where Mr. Savage lives then?"

            "Oh!  Yes, of course, Mr. Savage.  Why are you going to see him?"

            "So I can ask him if he knows where Mr. Young is."

            "Mr. Young is missing?!"

            Stuart paused and smacked his forehead, "No, he's not."

            "Oh, in that case."  Mr. Saunders stood and walked into his parlor, scribbling something down on a piece of paper, and handing it to Stuart, "It's a very big house, very hard to miss."

            "Thank you, Mr. Saunders!"  He looked down at the paper and ran out the door.  Unfortunately for him, Mr. Savage was too far away to run to, so he stood out in the street with his arm outstretched, trying to hail a nonexistent carriage.

            It'd taken him twenty or so minutes, but he'd finally hailed a carriage.  Then it took another twenty or so minutes for him to arrive at Mr. Savage's house, and then two minutes arguing with the carriage driver when he realized he didn't have any money (he never seemed to).  But he finally stood in front of Mr. Savage's door and knocked.  After a few minutes, a young, tired looking woman opened the door and looked at him.

            "What kind of person comes visiting at this time of night?"

            "I need to see Mr. Savage!"

            "Mr. Savage is not home.  Now if you could please – " She tried to close the door, but Stuart held it open with his shoulders, being stronger and taller than her.  "Sir!  He is not home!  Leave or I will be forced to call the authorities!"

            "Could you at least leave a message?"

            "Martha!"

            The girl faltered and Stuart stumbled into the room, just barely managing to keep from falling.  He was absolutely shocked.  Mr. Savage lived very, very well.  The floor, he was certain, was marble with large oriental rugs.  The staircase was carved and polished beautifully and made out of oak, or maple, or some strong and expensive wood.  At the foot of the staircase stood an elegant woman, dressed in decorated house clothes.  Her hair was worn down and she had obviously not been expecting a visitor for she looked very unkempt and wild, but obtained her elegant beauty.

            The woman was Marianne.  "Ma'am!"

            "Oh, so it's you."  Marianne took a step down the staircase and glided towards Stuart.  She didn't glide as elegantly as Natalie did, and her hands seemed to shake as she walked, but she still glided.  Stuart assumed all upper-class women glided.  They must've been bred to do that.  His sister never glided – she stomped and grumbled and screamed and shuffled, but she did not glide.  He really never knew what possessed her to be a nun.

            "You're Mr. Young's sister!"

            "So he didn't tell you Thomas was my husband?"  She scoffed, "How very typical of him.  Well, what are you here for?"

            "I need to ask Mr. Savage something!"

            "You most certainly do not need to ask Thomas anything."  She waved her hand at Martha, "Tea." Martha nodded and hurried out of the room.  "You will ask me, and I shall decide if you can ask him anything."

            "But I – "

            "What is it, then?"

            "What?"

            "What do you need to ask him?"

            Stuart took in a deep breath, "Mr. Young is gone."

            Obviously Marianne had not been expecting this.  Her cold appearance faltered and her face showed lines of worry that had been building for years, "Gone?"

            "After the performance, I went back home – " she glared, "I mean his house, and he wasn't home."

            "And Timothy?"

            "Neither one."

            Marianne raised a shaking hand to her forehead, "They're not home!  How dare they!  They could have told me!  Me, their only sister, me, the oldest child.  Couldn't they have at least given me a hint?  I never thought Timothy would be able to do it – I always thought _I_ would!"

            "Mrs. Savage?"

            "Stuff it!"  Marianne took a step back, visibly shaking now, "Well, this certainly will make father happy at least.  I must make arrangements at once to meet them."

            Martha hurried back into the room with the tray of tea and, seeing Marianne's tremors, immediately bent down and set the tray on the floor, rushing over to her, "Ma'am, you need to be in bed!"

            "I'm fine, Martha."

            "But you had those – "

            "I'm _fine_, Martha."  She held her head up and looked down her nose at Stuart, "It is of no concern to you where my brother is.  Please, leave."

            "It is my concern!  Is he all right?  Is he safe?"

            "He is quite safe.  He's back where he belongs – home, with our father.  And I'd appreciate it if you did not try to bring him back.  He belongs with father, and not here with you or anyone else!"

            "But, I… I wasn't…" Edward had told Stuart very little about his home life, about his previous life, about his family.  The most he knew was that Marianne and Timothy were his siblings, but that was it.  The confusion and betrayal showed quite plainly on his face

            Marianne's expression softened, "If you must know, he went home to France.  Our father is head priest at a church there.  In fact… our family owns the building itself."

            "Really?"

            "He never told me?"

            Stuart sighed, "He never told me anything."

            "Hm… typical.  In any case, I do not give you permission to go after him.  He's ended it, Mr. Shubrook, and you can't do anything about it."

            "E-ended it?!"  Stuart could feel the tears welling up in the corners of his eyes, but he would not let himself cry in front of this cold woman.  He would not show how angry or disappointed he was.

            Unfortunately for him, Marianne was a very perceptive woman.  "Mr. Shubrook… even if I did give you permission, there's absolutely nothing you could do.  Once Edward makes up his mind you can't change it."  She took a step forward and placed a hand on his shoulder, "I am sorry."

            Stuart raised an arm and wiped his tears quickly, "I don't believe you!"  He brushed her hand away from his shoulder and stepped back, "I can't believe you!  I have to believe that he can come back!"

            "It's useless – "

            "I don't care if it is!  I'm going to find out where he is, and I'm going to bring him back!  With or without your permission!"

            Marianne's eyes widened in shock at the declaration he made.  How dare he!  No one (aside from Edward) ever defied her!  Her word always went, her wants always came first, and no upstart was going to change it, "I will not stand for such insolence!"

            "Well that's just too bad!  I love Edward and I'm not going to let you keep me from him!"  Stuart stopped, clamping a hand over his mouth.  He loved Edward?  He loved the cold bastard who never seemed to care about him or about his feelings?  Yes.  He did.

            The woman standing before him seemed to have forgotten her words.  She stood there, tremors wracking her body, looking at the young man before her.  People had wanted to be with Edward before him – many, many people.  And yet, they'd all backed down.  None of them ever had enough courage to defy her and confess.  "Do you now?"

            Stuart gulped; there was no turning back now.  He let out a tight, 'yes' and then lowered his hand, speaking louder, "Yes."

            "Well then…" Marianne took a step towards him, "I'm not the only one who would stop you, Mr. Shubrook."

            "I-I know."

            "Do you now?"

            _Yes, I do_! "Yes."

            "Then…" Marianne's shaking was less violent and she seemed to straighten a bit, her voice clearer, "You may go after him."

            "I… what?"

            "You heard me."

            She gave him permission?  Stuart was speechless.  This woman, this cold, unforgiving, calculating woman no longer objected to him loving her brother.  She didn't object!  Stuart felt like he would float.  "Thank you!"

            "I will, however, not tell you where he is."

            Farewell, floating.  "What?  Why not?"

            "If you love him so much you'll find out without my help."

            "But…"

            "Now, please leave.  Thomas would not be happy to know you're here; it's best you leave before he returns.  Martha," she turned to the maid who had been standing there with a look of shock, disgust, and extreme interest, "Warm the tea."  The maid jumped and nodded, grabbing the tray and rushing out of the room.

            Stuart sighed and bowed to her, turning and leaving the house.  Well, he could do it, right?  He could find where Edward lived, go there, make him understand that they loved each other, and get him home, couldn't he?  Couldn't he?

            He had to believe he could… but for now, it was late, and he needed to go to Hugh's to sleep.  But… he knew that carriage driver was not going to take him there without money, so he turned back and started banging on Mr. Savage's door, asking for money for a carriage.

~-~

Houston, we have plot!


	17. Chapter 16

Notes:  Wow!  How long has it been?  A year?  Well, almost… not quite a year, but very nearly.  Why have I waited so long?  Does anyone even remember this story?  I wonder… well, for the first answer, I've been uninterested.  Terribly, terribly uninterested in this story and in Gravi.  However, after someone emailed me and reminded me of the story, I started thinking about it – I decided, "hey, why not try and finish it?"  Plus, I want to start working on another long fanfic and really cannot do that with a mammoth like Roses looming over me, smacking me on the head and saying "Bad Bunny Fufu!"  As for the second answer… I really don't know.

So… yeah.  This might be a bit of a rusty chapter, but that's to be expected I suppose.  Anyway… review it if you're glad it's back, or review anyway.  Or not, whatever floats your boat.  Though, if I get zero reviews, I doubt I'll write another chapter XD

Chapters left, approximately: 10

Character names: Check previous chapters.

Pairings explored: YukiShu, RyuTatsu, TohmaSakano, HiroNoriko (…I don't know HOW that happened)

How long until next chapter is out: A few days (2-5), hopefully.

Quotes in italics: Means they're talking in French.

**_Roses_**

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

_Chapter 16_

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 "'If you love him so much you'll find out without my help.'  What's _that_ supposed to mean, Hugh?"

Hugh sighed and glanced up at Stuart.  Just a few minutes ago, the young man burst into Hugh's place and kicked over some furniture.  Some babblings about an insane sister later and he was lying on the ground, crying his eyes out.

"What happened after you left?  You just… ran out of the theatre without talking to anyone - "

"I talked to Mr. Savage."

"Oh, like that counts.  Stuart, be coherent and tell me what happened."

Stuart looked up at Hugh, a forlorn look in his eyes.  "He's gone."

"What?"

"GONE, Hugh!  I went to Mr. Savage's house, because, you know, that's where his sister is, and she said he left!  But will she tell me where?  Noo, she says that I have to find out for myself."  Stuart sat up and gripped Hugh's pant leg, "If I do that, he may run off and marry a… turkey, for all I know!"

"…A turkey."

"Yes."

Fighting off the urge to fall over laughing, Hugh knelt down and patted Stuart's arm, "Well, I'm assuming that you're talking about Mr. Young." Stuart nodded, "Alright, well, did you talk to Mr. Young's brother?"

"He's gone too!"

"Don't you think they might've left together?"

"But," Stuart blinked, "Why?  Is Timothy going to be best man?"

"_Forget_ about the turkey!  Where do you think they could've gone to?"

"How should I know?"

"Stuart… please, just," Hugh stood again and paced around the room.  Deep down, in that dark, dark part of his heart that he suppressed with every fiber of his being, he was _glad_, no, _ecstatic_, that the author disappeared.  But, guessing by the tears that wouldn't stop flowing down Stuart's face, he knew that there was nothing good about Mr. Young's disappearance.  "Think about where they could've gone.  Maybe they had a family emergency?  Where do their parents live?"

"With the turkey?"

"Stuart…"

The redhead sighed and stood up, "I don't know… Timothy has a French accent, though."

"France?"

"Wait… he _did_ say that's where their family came from!"

"Well, then, that's where they are."

"But, oh…" Stuart collapsed on the ground again, "Even if I know that, how am I supposed to know _where_ in France?  I mean, the country is pretty big, and Timothy never said where exactly they live."

"Ask around."

"Like who?"

"Mr. Savage?"

Stuart looked up and smiled, "Mr. Savage!  Of course, why didn't I think of that?  Thank you, Hugh!"  He jumped up and gave Hugh a peck on the cheek.  "Where is Mr. Savage?"

_D-did he… just…_ Hugh stared incredulously at Stuart.  "Uh, well, I, uh…"

"Theatre!  Right!  This'll all work out, trust me!  I'll go talk to Mr. Savage, then I'll go to France and get Mr. Young back!"  His smile grew and he grabbed his coat, rushing out of the room.  Hugh stared at the place where Stuart had been standing.  Stuart… had kissed him.  Well, sort of… it's not like the odd boy had never kissed him on the cheek before, but still.  Hugh smiled and collapsed into a pile of mush on the floor.

"No.  Absolutely not."

"What?"

He was actually still at the theatre, talking to some of his many clients.  Mr. Savage always stayed after a debut performance for several hours, well after all of the important people left.  Stuart found him backstage, talking to a pretty young woman.  Immediately, the actor-slash-poet rambled on about where Mr. Young's home in France was.  He finally got out an intelligent sentence - 'Tell me where he lives!' 

"I will not, Mr. Shubrook."

"But you have to!"

"I have no such obligation to you."  He smiled at the young woman and tried to pick up their conversation again.

"You _do too!_"

"Mr. Shubrook!" He sighed and asked the girl to excuse them for a few minutes, "Mr. Shubrook, you are my client.  I decide whether your career sinks or floats, I decide whether or not you're allowed to be seen with anyone, and I decide whether or not you can pursue Mr. Young.  I've let this charade go on long enough, I think, my patience has been very thin but very forgiving."

"Mr. Savage, I – "

"Do not interrupt me, Mr. Shubrook!  Mr. Young is obviously no longer interested in you and, I believe, it's about time.  I advise that you to his house, get your things, and proceed to have nothing more to do with him.  Good evening, Mr. Shubrook.  Oh, and a lovely performance you gave."  He smiled disarmingly and motioned for the woman to come back.

Stuart stood there, staring at the two.  Obviously, Mr. Savage thought the conversation was over.  Obviously, he was jealous of Stuart.  Obviously, Stuart wasn't going to give up.  He won over Marianne; he could win over Mr. Savage – he hoped.

"No."

"Excuse me?" Mr. Savage turned and looked at Stuart.

"No.  I won't let you."

"You… what?"

"I won't let you dictate my life, Mr. Savage!"

The publisher laughed, a cruel and biting sound, and waved the girl away again.  "I don't think you have much of a choice."

"I don't care!  I love Mr. Young and I'm not going to listen to some, some, jealous, married man!"

Mr. Savage froze.  The people surrounding them stopped any and all activity and turned their attention to the two men.  This wasn't happening – this very scene was exactly why he'd not wanted Edward and this brat to continue seeing each other.  Somehow, someway, he knew that this kid would ruin his reputation.  "What are you implying?"

"You know damn well what I'm implying."

He chuckled nervously and took hold of Stuart's arm, "Mr. Shubrook, come over here and we'll talk."

"No!  Listen, I know I'm not the smartest person you know.  I'm probably not the most cunning, either, but I can tell that the only reason you'd keep me from Mr. Young is that you're jealous!"

"Jealous?  Me?  Of what, your insanity?  Of the fact that you, and Mr. Young, are two very sick people?  No, I think not."

"Admit it, Mr. Savage."  Stuart glared at him, defiantly.  He knew he was overstepping his bounds – tomorrow, if he were still in the country, Mr. K was going to come after him with a rifle.  But he had to stand up for this – if he didn't, he had a feeling that he'd never see Mr. Young again.

"Mr. Shubrook," he lowered his voice and glanced at the other people.  _Well, at least they're just actors._ "If I tell you where he are, will you calm down?"

"Yes."

"Fine."  Mr. Savage sighed and pulled Stuart aside.  "You have to swear that you won't tell a soul about this conversation we had.  If Edward asks, Marianne told you."

"But she wouldn't – "

"_Marianne_ told you."

"Alright."

Stuart looked up at the ship in front of him.  It wasn't that far to France – just a sea away, but he'd never been off the island.  The farthest from home he'd ever been was Scotland, and that was just a hop-skip-and-jump away.  He sighed and looked at the water – it's not that he couldn't afford to make tons of trips, it's that he hated the water.

"No turning back now…" Stuart boarded along with countless other people.  The earliest ride he could get was in the morning – no other night boats were going out the previous day.  Stuart rubbed his eyes – he'd gotten zero sleep that night; his eyes were bloodshot.  "I just hope that turkey stays away from my Edward."

Stuart smiled, giddy.  'My Edward.'  He liked the sound of that.  _What if I call him that when I see him?  Oh, right, I won't live to call him anything again._  Stuart gathered himself and gripped the handle of his suitcase.  He could handle a little water.  A wave splashed up against the dock.  Ok, a lot of water.  Gulping, the young man walked towards the boat.

"You're not good on boats, are ya?"

Stuart gulped down the bile rising in his throat and turned to look at an older man.  He was certain this guy was a stalker – this was the third time he'd been within two feet of Stuart.  Shaking his head, he leaned over the railing again.

"It's worse inside."

"That's nice."

The old man extended a gnarled hand, "Name's Barker, James Barker."

The redhead glanced down at the hand, then at the man's face.  He mouthed the name, not liking how it formed in his mind.  Retching, he turned back to the railing.  'Barker, James Barker' coughed and pulled his hand back.

"You don't look too good, sonny."

"'m not your sonny."

"I call all you kids 'sonny.'"

Stuart nodded meekly and started to walk away from the weird man.  He didn't have time for this - there were places to go, people to throw up on, boyfriends to win back.

'James Barker' rushed after Stuart, running in front of him.  "I think I have just the thing for you.  It'll clear this problem of yours right up."

"I don't want any medicine from you.  Thank you, though."  Stuart turned to walk away, only to run into the odd man again.  "What do you _want_?"

"Oh, I don't want anything.  It's what you want."

"What… I want?"

James Barker nodded fervently and reached into his coat, pulling out a leather bound book.  "It's what everyone wants, really."

"… a book."

"Oh, no, no, no!  Not just any book, Mr… uhm… what was your name again?"

"I never told you."  James Barker stood there, looking at him expectantly.  "Stuart."

"Mr. Stuart!"  Stuart twitched, "This isn't just any book, it's a book that everyone would want.  Why, I could sell it for millions!"

"Do that, then."

"But I want to sell it to you, Mr. Stuart!"

Stuart sighed and clutched his stomach, rushing over to the railing again, "I don't have millions.  I don't even have thousands!"

"Well, that's no big deal.  I'll give it to you for the low, low price of two hundred dollars."

"Two hundred dollars?!"  Stuart blanched and wiped his mouth on his shirt sleeve, "No one in their right mind would buy a book for that much money.  That's absurd."

"Don't you want to hear the _story_ behind this?"

"Not really.  I think you're a con artist, Mr. Barker, James Barker."  Stuart rushed away from him, breaking into a sprint as he saw the man running after him.  For an old guy, he sure was fast.  Stuart skidded to a halt as he saw James Barker standing in front of him again.

"I'm not buying it!"

"Then take it!  I don't want it anymore, you take it!  You _need_ it."  He deposited it into Stuart's reluctant hands.  "There, that wasn't so hard, was it?"

Stuart looked down at the book and ran a finger along the embossed rose on the cover.  "Right…" he glanced at the blue, sparkling water and clamped his mouth shut.  The red head walked up to the railing and chucked the book over the side.  "You are a sick, sick man, Mr. James Barker!"  James Barker let out a tiny scream and ran to the railing, trying to jump off before some of the crew ran and pulled him back.

Stuart clutched at his stomach and staggered into the bellows of the ship.  That man needed an asylum very, very badly.

Edward sighed as his father rushed out of the chateau.  He was wearing an old, red silk robe and fuzzy slippers.  His hair, what was left of it, was an absolute mess.

"Edward!  You came back!  I knew you had it in you, son."  He patted the younger man on the back and led him into the house.  "How'd Timothy get you to come back?"

"I have my ways."  Timothy smirked and followed the two.

"Not that monk story again, Timothy.  I already told you I was joking."  Edward stopped short and looked at the two.  They were laughing at that statement, patting each other on the back.  A joke?  He came back over… a joke?  He probably lost the only person he'd really cared about in years over… a _joke?_

"I'm leaving."  He turned and started to walk away from the crazy old man, crazy priest, and likely crazy chateau.

"Wait, Edward!"  His father grabbed hold of his arm, "You came all this way; you must stay a little while.  For my health."

"Who cares about your health?"

"Edward!"

He sighed and lowered his head, defeated.  His father was right – he had come all this way.  He didn't much feel like getting on another boat anytime soon.  Besides, knowing Stuart, the boy would probably stay at his house, crying, for days.  No reason to rush.

"Fine.  But I'm not staying long."

"I don't ask you to!"  The three men walked towards the house again.

"Timothy?"

"Yes, brother?"

"You're not lasting the night, you know that, don't you?"

Timothy sighed and nodded demurely.

            He walked along the center garden path.  Their chateau was a mile away from the church.  It was a large house – twelve bedrooms, two bathrooms, a parlor, a lounge, a study, a dining room, servants' quarters, kitchen, and a large garden.  Edward glanced around the garden – this was the only part of the whole place that he liked.  His home in England didn't have a big enough yard for a garden.  When his father died, he'd inherit all of this.  The arrangement the Ulysses family had was an odd one – two men in the family were required to stay behind.  One man became the head priest at the church; another had legal ownership of the church and stayed at the chateau.  He wasn't sure how they owned a church – something about a ferret, but he hadn't been listening when his father told the story.

            He stopped at the end of the path and plopped down onto the iron bench.  He wasn't looking forward to owning the big house, but he didn't have much of a choice.  Timothy was required to be the head priest; Edward had to take care of the legal matters.

            "Well, at least the garden will be a nice place to write in…"

            Timothy stared wistfully at the poster for Reece Smith's most popular performance – Stuart's prized possession.  He snickered; he'd taken the poster from Stuart's hiding place before he left.  It's not like Stuart was going to be able to get it back, anyway.  He smiled, running a hand along the drawn image of his idol.  Next time… next time, he'd meet him.

            A servant knocked on his door, mumbling something.  The teenager sighed and walked to the door, looking out, "_Yes?_"

            "_Someone here to see Edward, sir._"

            "_So go tell Edward._"

            "_He asked not to be disturbed, sir._"

            Timothy sighed – all the servants were afraid of his brother, for some reason.  They left him alone unless someone stuck a hot poker up their butts and hypnotized them to go see him.

            "_Well, who is it?_"

            "_I don't know, sir.  He hasn't called before._"

            Sighing again, Timothy left his room and walked downstairs, "_Where is he?_"

            "_The parlor, sir._"

            Timothy turned down a corridor and stepped into the large, red room.  His father loved the color red – all of the rooms he could get his hands on were covered in red velvet and red curtains.

            "Bonjour!"

            A redhead turned and looked at Timothy.  The teenager blanched and stared at Stuart.  "I, I didn't mean to take it without asking!  Honestly!"

            "Well you should've asked!  I was so worried!"  Stuart rushed up to him and shook him by the shoulders, "You don't just take someone without asking!"

            "I'm sorry, I didn't think it meant that much to you!"

            "Didn't think he meant that much?!  Are you insane?!"

            "Well, no, I – wait, 'he'?"

            "Mr. Young!  Who did you think?"

            Timothy laughed nervously and shrugged the actor's hands of his shoulders.  So it wasn't the poster!  "What a relief!  He was going to come back, you know."

            "And I went through all this trouble, so you'd better let me – he what?"

            "Mmhmm, he just left for a little while."

            Stuart blinked.  "Well, he… he still missed my performance!"

            "Oh, I'm really sorry about that.  Our boat was leaving that day, and father hates it when I'm late."  Timothy stepped over to a desk and poured some sherry into a glass.  "Would you like some?"

            "Oh, I don't drink."

            "I'm sorry."  Timothy downed the glass and poured another.  "Edward's 'not to be disturbed' or something.  I don't know where he is.  The place," he gestured around the room, "is so huge that you can't find anyone most of the time."

            "Is this… your house?"  Stuart looked up.  The parlor itself was huge – several couches, chairs, a pool table, a fireplace, darts, and card tables were littered throughout the room.  You could still see the Asian rugs.

            "Well, it's my father's house.  Then it'll be Edward's house.  So no, it's not mine, but I do live here."

            "Mr. Young's house?"

            "You really need to stop calling him that."  Timothy set the glass down, "It's really disturbing to hear you say that so much."

            "He won't let me call him 'Edward.'"

            "So what?  I call him Eddy if I feel like it."  Timothy smiled and took hold of Stuart's arm, leading him out of the parlor.  "You shouldn't worry about him getting angry too much."

            "Easy for you to say!  You're his brother!"

            "Ahh… yes, that does have its perks, doesn't it?"  Grinning, the teenager led Stuart out the back door.  "He's usually outside.  Hey, brother!  Someone here for you!"

            Stuart ran forward, seeing Edward sitting on a bench a few yards away.  The writer blinked and glanced at the two men before him.  He almost smiled when he saw Stuart.  Almost.  Then he remembered where he was and who else lived in the house.  He remembered what that other person did, and that other person's beliefs.

            "Oh no… not this, anything but this."

            "Edward!"

            "No, no, no!"

            The redhead barreled into Edward's chest, wrapping his arms tightly around the man's waist.  Edward sighed and tried to pry him from his arms.  "You can't be here, get out."

            "I'm not letting you walk out!"

            "Stuart!  Get off!"

            "What's all this, Edward?"  The two looked up, seeing an old man leaning heavily on a cane.  "Who's that?"

            "This… is bad."

~*~

My name is Barker… James Barker.  Stirred, not shaken. 


End file.
